


By Any Other Name

by GuestPlease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Bechdel Test Pass, Draco is a dramatic nerd, Everyone is jealous of Cedric and Cho, F/M, Humour, I flat out refuse to tag everybody, I'm not sure if it's enough to warrant a full categorization yet, M/M, Narcissa is beautiful but we already knew this, Soulmate AU, Theodore Nott is a weird nerd but they all love him anyway, There is a nonexplicit reference to non-consent, also astoria has a crush on ginny so there's that, also warning for Grindelwald being kind of awful, and Draco's not redeemed immediately, basically this entire story is 'hijinks ensue', but it occurs in conversation at the end of chapter 9 and super vaguely at the end of 8, this is meant to be a fun story guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 127,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6543688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuestPlease/pseuds/GuestPlease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy, like all his family before him, has looked forward to meeting the person behind the name that will eventually appear. Provided they are a Pureblood, of course. But for some absurd reason, she doesn't seem to like him. Even worse she appeared to be friends with Potter's group. This of course leads to hijinks. </p><p>Not to mention, Potter's somewhat more annoying than usual with his constant retorts and somehow, someway, Ginny Weasley acquired a basilisk. (Draco honestly was not going to ask.)</p><p>-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-</p><p>Harry Potter, for his part, was pulled headfirst into the confusing world of the Slytherins when Draco Malfoy decided (for whatever Malfoy-ish reason) that they were friends. It doesn't help that somehow, Malfoy wasn't actually the most insane of the Slytherins. </p><p>How will Harry face the scion of Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange, Gellert Grindelwald, and whatever else the world (and author) throws at him this time around?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

On the eleventh of December, 1955, Narcissa Black was born. Eleven years and one day later, Abraxas Malfoy appeared in the fireplace, tugging a pre-teenaged child with him. “Cygnus! Cygnus Black!”   
“Master Cygnus is not--” A house-elf appeared, trying to appease this intruder.   
“Fetch him. This is more important than whatever Cygnus is doing now.” Abraxas snorted. “And fetch the girl… Marissa?”   
“Narcissa.” The boy beside him replied sulkily. “Father, this is—”

“Stop sniveling, Lucius. Elf, go fetch Cygnus and the girl.”   
The elf hesitated. “Master Cygnus is—”   
“Now.” Abraxas snarled. “Or I shall tell Druella you impeded an exceedingly important guest.”   
Lucius doubted that. Mother would likely be the one to write up to Madame Black about the rudeness of her house-elf.   
However, the threat worked, and an irate Cyngus Black appeared, with a pretty blonde girl following him.   
“What is the meaning of this, Abraxas?” Cygnus huffed.   
Abraxas pushed Lucius forward. “Show him the mark, boy.” 

Lucius acquiesced, lifting his silky hair to reveal the name on his neck, before turning back around.   
“That was fast, Abraxas. The girl’s birthday was only yesterday.” Cygnus huffed.   
“And it was only discovered yesterday.” Abraxas replied. “Now, let’s be honest, Cygnus. You couldn’t hope for a better match than this. Sure, you could have pawned the girl off to one of your cousins, but can you really risk another strain of Black madness surfacing?”   
Cygnus scowled. “Really, Malfoy? When you’re an incurable snob?”   
“With an impeccable social standing.” Abraxas sneered. Lucius tried to mimic it, and Narcissa giggled. Apparently he was not that fearsome. 

“Let’s stop beating about the bush, Cygnus.” Abraxas continued. “How much?”   
Cygnus raised an eyebrow. “She’s not a cow, Abraxas. Besides, the girl doesn’t know what’s happening—Druella took ill before she could tell her, Bellatrix and Andromeda are off at school, and I simply don’t have the time to raise a child.”   
“Eloquent, Cygnus. Am I to believe you never told this child anything? Are you trying to charge me interest in this deal?”   
“Again, I’m not selling my daughter, Abraxas.” Cygnus’ voice was low.   
“You have two more. All I have is Lucius. I’m the one losing an asset here.” Abraxas replied flippantly.   
Cygnus tensed, and Lucius’ eyes widened. His father wasn’t going to ruin this, was he? He had thought she was perfect, he couldn’t…! 

“You’re lucky I’m familiar with your personality, Abraxas.” Cygnus finally smiled. “Though I understand why your parents decided to name you the closest thing to ‘abrasive’.”   
Narcissa tugged on her father’s sleeve, and whispered in his ear as he bent down to listen.   
“But why? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”   
More whispering.   
Cygnus straightened, and Narcissa smirked. “Narcissa would like to speak to your son alone. Before you make an idiotic comment, there would be a chaperone.”   
Narcissa took Lucius’ hand, and led him into the other room. “What’s this about?” 

“You don’t… right, your father said you didn’t.” Lucius shrugged, before playing with a bit of his hair. “Yesterday as I was drying my hair, I noticed your name on the back of my neck.”   
“I noticed. What is this about? If you are a suitor, you’ll have to come back later. I’m not even in Hogwarts yet.” She said stiffly, crossing her legs like a lady as the house-elf shot her a look from the corner.   
“I’m your soulmate.”   
“I’ve never heard that line used on one of my sisters before.” She noted.   
“No, I mean… when the younger person in the relationship turns eleven, the soulmate’s name appears on each other’s bodies.” 

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “Eloquent.”   
Lucius huffed. “It makes more sense when Mother explains it. But do you have a name anywhere on your body in black ink?”   
Narcissa paused for a minute, smoothing her skirt, before replying. “On my left upper arm. According to Father, the names don’t mean anything.”   
Lucius scowled. “Don’t mean anything? They have the name of your soulmate, you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with them!”   
“Well. Andromeda had ‘Theodore Tonks’ written around her ankle and Father saw it and looked in his books and eventually came back and said that it didn’t matter and she could marry whoever she wished as long as it was a Pureblood.” Narcissa said stiffly.   
“Well, obviously it doesn’t apply to Mudbloods and Halfbloods.” Lucius snorted. 

Narcissa’s mouth was a thin line. “But it’s tradition for Purebloods?”   
“Of course.”   
“Most traditions are somewhat silly. What if I choose to marry another man, a better man?”   
Lucius scowled again. “I’ll duel him.”   
“You sound like a Gryffindor. Bellatrix told me you were a Slytherin.”   
“Well, I can hardly let him get away with marrying my soulmate.”   
“What if it’s my decision?” Narcissa looked him in the eye. 

Lucius crossed his arms petulantly, and Narcissa giggled. “I can see I’m going to win a lot of arguments with you, Lucius Malfoy.”   
He rolled his eyes. “Malfoys don’t lose arguments.” She was still fairly perfect though, if he was being honest.  
“Neither do Blacks. And if I do marry you, and become a Malfoy, then what? Who wins then?”   
He shot her a long look. “Next year of Hogwarts will be torturous, won’t it?”   
“Oh no. I imagine it will be quite fun.” Narcissa laughed. 

Lucius stuck out his tongue at her, quickly retracting it when Abraxas snapped, “Lucius!”   
“Coming, Father!”   
Narcissa followed him to the fireplace, where Cygnus was waiting smugly. “The deal is struck then, Abraxas?”   
Abraxas laughed. “Don’t look so smug. We both know I got the better end of the deal here.”   
Cygnus raised an eyebrow. “Did you now?”   
Abraxas’ eye began to twitch. 

“Father, I’m sure you got the best deal, as only Malfoys get the best, correct?” Lucius wanted to hurry this along before Narcissa ensnared him again.   
“Correct, Lucius, but Blacks are slippery. Remember that.”   
Cygnus raised an eyebrow. “Do you wish to argue for an hour because of your snobbery, Abraxas? And let’s be quite honest here—either the Malfoys have some Black ancestry in them, or they’ve resorted to Muggles at this point. Which would you prefer?”   
Abraxas’ eye began to twitch. “At this point, I’m beginning to prefer the Muggles.”   
Lucius held back an enormous sigh. He’d be miserable for the rest of his life because of this, even if Narcissa Black ran circles around him. Maybe they’d elope. Perhaps Mother wouldn’t be too upset if they did. On Narcissa’s part, she looked surprised. No one turned down the Blacks. They were exceedingly wealthy and well-bred. Who were the Malfoys to call that nothing? 

Cygnus let out a long laugh, before wiping a tear from his eye. “Dear Merlin, Abraxas. I’m going to miss you one day. You’re the funniest friend I have.”   
“The others are too scared of crossing you. I’m simply honest.” Abraxas replied.   
“And that’s why you’re the only one on a first name basis.” Cygnus smirked.   
Abraxas cracked a rare grin. “Are you saying I’m your closest friend, Cygnus?”   
“I wouldn’t entrust my favorite daughter to just anyone’s son, now would I? Regardless of soulmates or not. Give my regards to Callidora, will you?”   
“Same for Druella. Hope this passes.” Abraxas replied stiffly. “Come, Lucius. Goodbye, Cygnus.”   
“Goodbye, Narcissa.” Lucius added.   
She smiled. “Bye, Lucius.”


	2. Draco finds his soulmate and oh look her sister hates him

You would be forgiven for believing this story was about the two of them. However, it was about a much more interesting person—Draco Lucius Malfoy. More specifically, it begins in early 1993 before the end of his second year at school. There was still an enormous snake running about petrifying people, but it failed to concern him. He wasn’t Muggleborn. No, what did manage to excite him was that, one night while reaching for a roll at dinner, his sleeve rode up and revealed a Name. Draco dropped the roll in his hurry, and yanked the sleeve back down, drinking in the Name. It had revealed itself. He finally had one.

“What’s wrong?” Gregory Goyle asked.  
Draco held up his arm. “I have a Name!”  
“Of course you have a name. You remind us at every opportunity.” Daphne Greengrass rolled her eyes.  
Tracey Davis giggled.  
Draco glared at both of them. “I mean I know who is my soulmate.”  
“Well, go on then. Who is it?” Theodore Nott asked.  
“Astoria Greengrass.” Draco gave a genuine grin.

A silence fell while Pansy Parkinson raised an eyebrow, and Daphne Greengrass turned red. “She is not.” She said in a dangerous whisper.  
“Read it yourself.” Draco gave a sweeping gesture, nearly knocking Vincent Crabbe in the face. “I daresay Mother and Father will be pleased. After all, your family is one of the Sacred 28, Greengrass.”  
“She did _nothing_ to deserve you.” Daphne Greengrass snarled.  
Draco scowled. “I am a Malfoy. I’m sure your sister did something. Perhaps she helped a deserving Pureblood orphan once to deserve being my future bride, or something of the like.”  
“Believe me, Malfoy. No one, not even Parkinson who seems to tolerate you, deserves to be your future bride.” Daphne spat.  
Draco stuck out his tongue. “Rude, Greengrass. You’re not invited to the wedding.”

“I assume it will be held in a dungeon with my sister gagged and bound to a chair to keep her from running away or refusing!”  
“Certainly not. Dungeons are dank and disgusting and Mother would never stand for it.” Draco sniffed injuredly. “The name Malfoy means ‘quality’, after all.”  
Daphne let out an angry scream, and stormed away.  
“I thought it meant ‘bad faith’.” Blaise Zabini noted.  
“Well, that too.” Draco shrugged, munching on his roll. “Wonder what’s gotten into her?”

Over at the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter was wondering the same thing.  
“Malfoy, likely.” Hermione Granger noted. “He’s a prat.”  
“He said something about a Name, and was gesturing around with his wrist. I feel sorry for whoever’s stuck with him.” Ron Weasley noted through a mouthful of roast beef.  
“How did you hear him from here?” Hermione asked in wonder.  
Ron shrugged. “When you have as many brothers as I do, good hearing over noise like this becomes necessary.”  
“What’s a Name?” Harry asked.  
“It’s a Soulmate kind of thing.” Hermione explained. “All magical people and some creatures with sentience have it.”

“There are different colours of the ink.” Ron added helpfully through Yorkshire pudding.  
“Yes. Black is romantic and sexual. Blue is for asexual people. Violet is for aromantic people. Indigo is for ace/aro people. They’re sort of… special friends, I should think.” Hermione noted. “And of course, you can have multiple names and be polyamorous.” She went more in depth, Ron nodding the whole way through. “Names can appear anywhere.”  
“What, like your…” Harry leaned in to whisper. “Like your willy?”  
Hermione rolled her eyes, while Ron shrugged. “You’d definitely notice, wouldn’t you? ‘Sides, you don’t have to marry them, but if it’s there…”

“Does it hurt?” Harry asked.  
“No.” Hermione replied. “It’s painless. It’s for the rest of your life, though. Everyone has one.”  
“Wonder if Snape has one.” Harry made a face.  
Ron followed suit. “Forget Malfoy, I feel bad for whoever is saddled with him.”  
“Honestly. Of course Professor Snape has a Name.” Hermione huffed. “I’m sure he’d be open to talking about it.”  
Harry snorted. “You must mean another Professor Snape, who wears lavender and brushes his hair and gives points to Gryffindor.”  
Ron high-fived him, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Funny. I’m going to go see if Greengrass is alright.”  
“Why? I didn’t know you got along.” Harry pointed out.

“We do. We share Potions notes sometimes and she hates Malfoy. Besides, she seems upset, and we don’t want another Moaning Myrtle, do we?” Hermione said pointedly before leaving.  
“Greengrass isn’t going to be gotten by Slytherin’s heir though. She’s one of the Purest of the Pure.” Ron pointed out.  
“Hermione has a point though. As usual.” Harry pointed out, before grabbing his own Yorkshire pudding and following Hermione. Ron sighed, before following suit. He found Harry outside a girl’s bathroom munching on said Yorkshire pudding while listening to Hermione and Daphne. “What did she do?! Did she murder someone, because that’s the only explanation I have for her having _him_ as her soulmate!” Daphne sounded like she was in hysterics.  
“Shh… who has who?”  
“’Storia. And _M-Malfoy_.” Daphne sobbed. “My baby sister and the professional prat.” Ron was quickly realizing he liked Greengrass. Anyone who hated Malfoy was obviously a good person.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Hermione cooed.  
“Not that bad? How am I going to tell my parents that ‘Storia is going to marry a Death Eater’s son?!” Daphne wailed.  
“Well, no one ever said anything about _marriage_ —”  
“Granger, you don’t know how this works. The Malfoys have been praying that their perfect Pureblood son marries a perfect Pureblood girl, and they’ll sink their claws into Astoria. If she refuses, they’ll shun our entire family. We’ll be treated like the Weasleys are, and we’ll be destroyed the same way they were. We can’t keep up with a budget that small after only knowing luxury, Granger!” Ron scowled. Okay, she still wasn’t that great, but she was at least better than Malfoy about it. Maybe.  
“Ron’s family is perfectly happy.”  
“Because they’ve already integrated themselves with the Light! They have a sterling reputation! Our circle of friends depends on wealth, and we’re too neutral to join the Light like that! We’d be destroyed in one fell swoop!”

“The Malfoys don’t have that much power—”  
“Oh, not the Malfoys. The Blacks. The last Black that didn’t run off or go mad is Malfoy’s mother. She knows how to play the game. Ever hear of the Fawley family, Granger?”  
“Er… no…”  
“They were  a strong part of the Sacred 28, the circle of the Purest of the Pure, until they crossed Druella Black. Malfoy’s grandmother. The Blacks only grow more ruthless with each generation, Granger! You think Narcissa Malfoy wouldn’t destroy us all using her husband?! The alternative is to force my sister to marry that _thing_.”  
“Malfoy’s not that bad. He’s her soulmate, right? For a reason.”  
“Because God doesn’t exist, Granger!” Daphne gave a shallow breath. “Because there are no loving Gods.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Ron, let’s go. Hermione has got this handled.”  
“Are you sure?” Ron asked.  
“Yes. And she’ll yell at us if she realizes we’ve been listening.” Harry whispered urgently. “I know that you’re absolutely _dying_ for Hermione to fly into a rage directed at you, but I’m leaving. Besides, something bad might happen again, and Filch will blame us, and I just _know_ we’ll get students of the year.”  
Ron covered his smile, and rolled his eyes. “Fine, let’s go.” They were almost back to the Hall when Harry heard it again. “ _Kill. Blood_.”  
“Ron. The voice is back.” He whispered.  
“So?”  
“I think we should go check on Hermione.”

“After you pointed out how much she’d love that?” Ron asked.  
“Just come on, you berk.” Harry growled. The boys broke into a run as they heard two screams. A few minutes later, they came across the two Petrified girls. “We need to tell someone.” Harry breathed. “Come on.”  
“Are we sure it’s not Malfoy? Maybe it’s Crabbe or Goyle and he’s telling them what to do!” Ron pointed out. “It’s probably a Pureblood being controlled through intimidation or something.”  
Harry pulled Ron along. “Normally I would make a snarky comment, but you have a weird talent for fortune-telling and Hermione and Daphne Greengrass are currently petrified and we might have joined them if we hadn’t left in time so let’s raise a glass to Wizard God—”  
“Wizards don’t have _a_ God.” Ron huffed. "We have an entire pantheon that has existed for a thousand years and more."  
“Then what the bloody hell was Greengrass weeping about?” Harry huffed. “Oi! Professors and other general people of upstanding! Hermione and Greengrass have been petrified back there!”

“I always thought it would happen in a library.” Ron added helpfully.  
“At least it wasn’t _on_ the toilet.” Harry shrugged. “And if this all works, then maybe Hermione can die of old age in a library one day.”  
“Bucket of cheer you are.” Ron muttered.  
“If you want cheer, go borrow some from Malfoy. He’s practically dancing.” Harry remarked drily. “I just hope they solve this soon. Poor Hermione.”  
“I didn’t know Malfoy _could_ dance. I thought you couldn’t see well enough to do so with your head up your arse.” Ron added. “And I feel the same about Hermione. And Greengrass, I guess…”  
Harry nodded in agreement as Malfoy rounded the corner. “This beast has gone too far.” He announced to his entourage. “It has attacked my future sister-in-law.”

“I think Greengrass prefers the beast.” Harry murmured.  
“The beast is _at least_ more effective than Lockhart.” Ron agreed. “Can’t even say that for Malfoy, can we?”  
“I love how we use sarcasm as a cover for our emotions.” Harry sighed happily. Ron nodded, and Draco scowled at them. “Are you two quite done?”  
“No, we were also going to talk about how your girlfriend probably hates you too.” Harry explained.  
“Maybe add a jibe at what is likely a cold and distant family.” Ron noted.  
Malfoy scowled at them. “Really, Potter? Then where’s your Name?”  
“Haven’t found it yet. Maybe my lover isn’t eleven yet.” Harry replied smoothly.

“Same. Or it’s in a really inaccessible place, like under my arse.” Ron offered.  
Draco crossed his arms. “Are you quite done? There’s been an attack of a serious nature, and you two are spouting lines as if you’re the comic relief character in a dramatic novel. One would think you’d be worried, seeing that your best friend was just petrified, but Gryffindors are not known for their hearts, are they?”  
Ron scowled. “Are you implying that we’re not insanely worried about our best friend, Malfoy?”  
“Is that all she is to you, Weasley?” Draco sneered. “Are you sure you don’t have the Mudblood’s name somewhere on you? It would make sense for why you keep the know-it-all around, beyond the fact that she triples the intelligence of your little group.”  
Harry was restraining Ron now.  
“Take it back, Malfoy!” He snarled.

“Take what back? The fact that you’re no better than a dog, and Potter has to restrain you to keep the both of you from having the everloving snot beaten out of you by Crabbe and Goyle if you dare lay a hand on me?” Draco smirked. “Or the fact that you could be in love with a Mudblood? Imagine it. Children with your beastly red hair, her buckteeth, her wild mane and of course, your financial standing. I imagine you’d breed like rabbits, wouldn’t you?”  
“At least if – _if_ , Malfoy—Hermione was his soulmate, we know she wouldn’t despise him. Greengrass seems to be a pretty good indication of her family’s opinion of you. She was sobbing about you marrying her sister, and her family losing everything if the poor kid didn’t. What kind of toady can’t even get his soulmate to like him properly?” Harry snapped. “And apologize for calling our friend that or I’ll let Ron loose. If you went whining to a teacher we’d simply explain that you called an injured student racial slurs.”  
“Hiding behind Dumbledore’s robes again?” Draco spat contemptuously. “What, do you at least take a shit without him to hold your hand?”

“I don’t know. I could say the same about you and Snape.” Harry shot back. “Have you ever wiped your own arse, Malfoy, or is that a strange Muggle concept?”  
Draco drew his wand. “Do you wish to start something, Potter?”  
“We want to finish what you started.” Ron snarled. “Take it back. Take back what you called her, you son of a bitch.”  
Draco’s eyes widened, and he pressed his wand to Ron’s neck, whispering, “Never insult Mother.”  
“Never insult Hermione.” Harry replied flippantly, freeing Ron’s arms.  
Ron immediately tackled Draco and began punching him. Harry began firing spells at the Slytherin entourage, until McGonagall intervened. “Potter, Weasley! What on Earth are you two _doing_?!”

“Malfoy called Hermione the M-word. More than once.” Ron spat out a bit of blood. “And insulted us several times. Harry was just defending me so I could punch him properly.”  
McGonagall turned her steely gaze to Malfoy. “What do you have to say for yourself?”  
“I was _assaulted_ by this barbarian!” Draco whined. “Have I not suffered enough?”  
“No.” Harry replied, spinning his wand between his fingers.  
Draco sneered at him as best he could with a swelling eye, split lip and what appeared to be a broken nose. “Screw you in particular, Potter.”  
“It’s cute that you think that since Greengrass won’t, I would step up for the burden, but no.” Harry retorted.  
“Potter!” McGonnagall snapped. “If you are quite done. Mr. Malfoy, I assume you’ve learned at least some iota of a lesson here. Potter, Weasley, while I commend your efforts in protecting your friend, you cannot go about attacking other students. In the future, report Mr. Malfoy’s words to a teacher immediately.”

“What if the closest teacher is Snape?” Ron asked.  
“Go find another teacher.” Harry advised.  
McGonnagall’s lips twitched. “That is an issue for another time. Twenty points from Gryffindor for this, and twenty from Slytherin to match. …Ten points for a vigorous defense of house members, Potter.”  
“That’s bias!” Pansy Parkinson yelped.  
“As if Snape’s entire teaching philosophy isn’t based around that word.” Ron snorted.  
Harry waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll get it back next time Malfoy farts in Potions class.” McGonnagall covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking.  
“What on Earth is so funny, Minerva?” Snape drawled, striding over. “The attack on two students is not humourous in the least.”

She straightened. “Sorry, Severus. I got a bit carried away with the argument our students were having.”  
“She took twenty points from Slytherin.” Draco whimpered, making his eyes go big. “On the day I got my Name too.”  
“You mean to tell me you took points from Malfoy for finding his soulmate?” Snape asked, holding Draco close, if not stiffly.  
“No, she took them away for his utterly _fantastic_ racism.” Harry noted.  
Snape glowered at him. “Five points from Gryffindor for being a smartmouth.”  
“Five points back to Gryffindor for explaining the situation to Professor Snape.” McGonnagall snapped. “Now stop coddling the boy. He is hardly the victim here. If I understand correctly, he and Miss Greengrass don’t even get along.”

“Let him be cuddled. He hasn’t had a chance to play the victim in a while.” Ron noted.  
“Don’t encourage him, he’ll be hovering a metre off the ground next time we play Quidditch and suddenly fall and break every bone in his body—according to him, at least.” Harry spat. Draco glared at them.  
“Potter, that is enough. Five points from Gryffindor for bullying.” Snape snapped.  
“Five points back for not actual being bullies. Really Severus, you can’t do this…”

Ron gestured to Harry and both boys began to make their way back to their Common Room. “Hermione’s parents are coming tomorrow.” Ron noted. “They have to, right?”  
“And Greengrass’.” Harry agreed. “But anyway, how are we going to figure out what the thing running about petrifying everyone is?”  
“You should talk to Madame Pomfrey about the voices tomorrow while we’re meeting her parents.” Ron added.   
“Hang on, why do we have to meet the parents?”  
Ron fell silent, and Harry gaped at him. “You mean to tell me Malfoy actually got something right for once in his life?”

“It’s weird!” Ron hissed. “I’m not supposed to-to… she’s our friend!”  
“You want to _snog_ Hermione!" Harry practically screeched, scandalized. "And what about me? I don’t even think I’ve got one! I’ll just be hanging around the two of you as you go… snogging, or whatever!”  
“N-no, you could go... hang out with Neville when we snog.” Ron’s face was almost as red as his hair. “If we ever snog. We’re friends, leave it alone!”  
Harry raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced.


	3. The Chamber of Secrets is opened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy makes an ass of himself and Ginny Weasley gains a pet

“Weasley.” Draco said stiffly.  
“Malfoy.” Ron growled.  
“Harry.” Said boy grinned.

“What are you doing, Potter?”  
“Well, you already named Ron, and I didn’t want to be left out.” Harry pointed out. “Drs Granger, hello.”  
“You’re that Harry Potter boy?” The father asked, while the mother eyed Ron somewhat knowingly. “And you must be Ronald Weasley. Who is this?”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.” He replied diplomatically. “I’m here for Daphne Greengrass…” He gestured to the bed where two silhouettes knelt behind a curtain.  
One of the Drs. Granger made her mouth a thin line, while the other scowled. “I see.”  
“You’ve heard of me.” Draco puffed up his chest.  
“What an incurable prat you are, almost certainly.” Harry noted.

Draco shot him a long glare. “I will not deign to answer that, Potter.”  
Ron rolled his eyes, and Draco scowled, before stalking towards Daphne’s bed, a bouquet in his grasp.  
“Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass…” he began.  
Hermione’s mother began speaking to Ron, and Harry decided that this was incredibly boring, and Hermione likely had this all figured out anyway.

In the tented off area, a woman with Daphne’s dark hair rose from her seat next to the bed. “You’re Draco Malfoy.”  
“I am. And I’m sorry about…” Draco gestured with his free hand to Daphne before hurriedly giving the bouquet to her mother. “Greengrass is very smart.”  
“I’m sure whatever it is won’t go after you.” Mr. Greengrass offered.

“That’s not… I feel bad about what happened. And…” He cleared his throat, unsure of how to proceed. “I’d like to put in a bid for Astoria’s hand in marriage.” That was how it went, right?  
There was silence for a minute, before Mr. Greengrass said, “Astoria is only eleven, and you’re twelve.”  
“Almost thirteen.” Draco corrected, hastily adding, “Sir.”

“It’s still too young to be thinking of marriage, but I’m sure your parents commend your foresight.” Mrs. Greengrass smiled benevolently.  
“No, I have her Name. On my wrist.” Draco clarified. “She’s my Soulmate.”  
Another pause fell.

“Astoria? Our Astoria?” Mrs. Greengrass breathed.  
Draco nodded, and pulled back his sleeve. “It’s not as if I can’t take care of her.”  
“You’re twel—” Mr. Greengrass started, before Mrs. Greengrass cut him off. “This is a lot to process right now. Peneus and I shall discuss it later, but right now, there is the issue of Daphne. Surely you understand?”

Draco nodded jerkily. That’s all he could hope for, really.  
“And thank you for the flowers.” Mrs. Greengrass added. “I’m sure Daphne appreciates them.”  
Draco slowly looked at the face of his hopefully-future-sister-in-law. It was frozen in terror, dark eyes wide and mouth closing on a scream. That couldn’t be comfortable. Though the alternative was a moving Greengrass, who could scream and curse him and probably punch him fairly hard and would have him thrown out of the Hospital Wing. She most definitely would _not_ appreciate the flowers, claiming they were a plot trying to worm his way into their hearts. Greengrass, as usual, wasn’t wrong. She didn’t need to know that though.

Harry Potter, meanwhile, was multitasking. While Ron distracted the Grangers, Harry eavesdropped on Malfoy and the Greengrasses, and thought about where Hermione would put information like the weapon of the Heir of Slytherin. Every conclusion lead to the pockets. Checking once more that everyone was distracted, he slipped a hand in her left pocket. Empty. Quickly, he changed pockets.  
“I don’t like this anymore than you do.” He hissed at Hermione’s frozen form, finding a crumpled bit of paper.

He quickly withdrew it as Madame Pomfrey entered, and Draco exited the tented area. “Potter! Weasley! Malfoy! What are you doing here?”  
“Looking for evidence that Hermione can solve what’s going on!” Harry answered.  
“Visiting my soulmate’s family to offer condolences.” Draco replied.  
“Meeting Hermione’s mum and dad.” Ron shrugged.

Harry uncrumpled the piece of paper. “Hermione says you have permission to use Legi-leg… Ron?”  
Ron walked over and took the paper. “Legilimens. Hermione gave her permission for Professor Dumbledore to use it on her.”  
Madame Pomfrey scowled. “Miss Granger should know better. Legilimens at this age could damage her.”  
“Hermione faced off with the Heir of Slytherin, and _that_ didn’t damage her.” Harry noted.

“What’s Legilimens?” One of the Drs Granger asked.  
“It’s the invasion of someone’s mind.” Mr. Greengrass pointed out, exiting Daphne’s tent with his wife in tow.  
The Drs Granger paled.  
“More people could get hurt.” Ron argued. “Professor Dumbledore would take care of her.”

“At least bring up the subject.” Harry agreed.  
Draco almost made a rude comment, before slowly turning to look at the Greengrasses. They weren’t as hardline as his family about blood purity. Based on Daphne’s familiarity with Granger… “With all due respect Madame Pomfrey, if any student knows about the dangers of Legilimens and has weighed the consequences, it is Granger. And the school can hardly be held responsible if she signed the waiver as Potter and Weasley claim.”

Madame Pomfrey paused. “It would be exceedingly dangerous and would have to be handled with the greatest of care.”  
“I assure you, at this point my father is moments away from assembling the Board of Governors. This creature is not only attacking Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs at this point, but a Slytherin has gone down. His worry for me will bring them together, and I assure you Hogwarts would close for the year, if not forever. Do you wish this great school to be destroyed because of your insignificant regard for Granger’s mind, one of the only things that may save your job?” Draco sneered.

“And he’s back.” Ron noted. “Took him long enough.”  
“Once a prat, always a prat.” Harry agreed.  
Madame Pomfrey’s mouth was a thin line. “Mr. Malfoy, I am a teacher at this school, and you shall not speak to me that way. No matter your opinion, each student is significant, and this decision must be carefully weighed. I suggest you accompany me to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office to think on your actions.”  
“I’d like to go too!” Harry said instantly. Watching Malfoy get in trouble was like icing on a cake.

“Mr. Potter, what do you need to see Professor Dumbledore for?” Madame Pomfrey asked.  
Harry thought for a moment, his mind drawing a blank. “I… I… I went in the girl’s bathroom!”  
“That can be handled by your head of house.” Madame Pomfrey pointed out. “There is no need to humiliate Mr. Malfoy further by gaining schadenfreude.” 

Harry considered this. It was probably wrong. _But_ he needed to help plead for Hermione’s Legilimens, and Malfoy wasn’t going to do that if he wasn’t being watched. He was already silent, staring at his shoes, face red.  
“Your hat…” Harry began. “…is ugly.”  
Madame Pomfrey raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Potter, _really_?”

Being needlessly cruel was harder than Harry thought. “Your dress is also ugly.”  
“It’s not a dress, Mr. Potter.”  
One of the Drs Granger covered his mouth to stifle a smile.  
Harry sighed, before closing his eyes. Much easier to close his eyes and pretend it was Snape. “Your eyes more sunken and dull than the Titanic, and one must ask how often you shower, based on how greasy your hair is, if nothing else.”

Silence fell, except for one of the Drs Granger giving muffled chuckles.  
“ _Richard_!” The other doctor exclaimed, scandalized. “I am so sorry—”  
“Mr. Potter, you will accompany Mr. Malfoy and me to Professor Dumbledore’s office.” Madame Pomfrey said. “Even if I understand that there was no malicious intent behind your words, you cannot get away with speaking to a teacher this way.” She caught his wrist and dragged them both out of the room.

Satisfied, Harry let himself be led out of the room, and up into Dumbledore’s turret.  
“These two have been exceedingly rude.” Madame Pomfrey huffed. “Potter also was likely rifling through Granger’s pockets, and has something to say.”  
Harry grinned. “Thank you, and sorry about earlier. Anyway, Hermione signed a waiver saying you’re allowed to use Legilimens on her, so she can show what happened to her.”  
“It’s certainly a novel approach…” Dumbledore noted. “And you, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco raised his head slowly, wiping his eyes. “I’m going to be miserable for the rest of my life.”  
“Oh, surely it’s not that bad!” Dumbledore clucked. “Madame Pomfrey simply didn’t want Professor Snape to be too lenient with you.”  
“No! Astoria’s parents. They saw me treating a teacher like that, they’ll never let her marry me, and she’s supposed to be _my_ soulmate, so no one else is ever going to compare.”

Harry rolled his eyes. _He_ didn’t have a soulmate, and he was perfectly happy. Well… as happy as he could be, anyway.  
Dumbledore’s face melted with compassion though. “Sometimes it doesn’t work out, Mr. Malfoy. I know that better than anyone. But if you two are truly meant to be together, it will happen. In the meantime, perhaps you should reassess your behavior.”  
Draco looked terrified. “You can _lose_ your soulmate, or something?!”

Madame Pomfrey sighed. “Albus, you’ve scared the boy.”  
“Life is not fairytales, Poppy.” Dumbledore remarked sadly. “And the story of the name on my right knee is for another time. Let us proceed down to the Hospital Wing.”

Shortly thereafter, Dumbledore revealed that the beast marauding through Hogwarts was a basilisk. A check through Harry’s (shared) book of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them_ back in the Gryffindor tower revealed that it was a giant snake. Harry, upon this realization, sat back, expression blank.  
“Mate?” Ron shook him.  
“It’s what I’ve been hearing.” Harry guessed. He hadn’t had a chance to tell Madame Pomfrey, but he was still betting he wasn’t messed up like _that_.

“Because you’re a Parselmouth.” It began to dawn on Ron as well. “So next time you hear it…”  
“I’ll talk back.” Harry agreed.  
It came a few days later, in the middle of Transfigurations class. “ _Kill. Kill._ ”

“ _No. No kill.”_ Harry hissed back, covering his face with a book so McGonnagall wouldn’t notice.  
“ _...what? Master?_ ”  
“ _I have decided that there will be no more killing._ ”  
“ _Master where are you?_ ”  
“ _I am in class. Do not bother me. Where are you?_ ”

“ _At the entrance, in the room of wet. Where I killed the girl so long ago. I have failed you—_ ”  
“ _NO! No kill. But where is the Other? The Imposter?”_  
“ _The girl who smells of red and holds the book of you?_ ”  
_“Yes, her.”  
“She is here. The book smells of displeasure.” _

“Professor McGonnagall, I need to go to the bathroom!” Harry said suddenly.  
McGonnagall looked taken aback. “Surely it can wait until I’ve finished my sentence, Mr. Potter?”  
He shook his head. “No, Professor. This relates to the Chamber of Secrets, I think I’ve found it.”  
“Potter, what does that have to do with our lesson?”  
“Hermione’s missing because she’s Petrified. She contributes to our performance.” Harry answered hurriedly. “ _Please_. Someone’s down there with him.”

McGonnagall paused for a moment, before saying, “Class, Professor Dumbledore will be taking care of you. I will be accompanying Potter.”  
“I don’t know _exactly_ where it is…” Harry admitted as they left the classroom.  
“That’s a better estimate than most of the teachers.” McGonnagall snorted. She then raised an eyebrow as they reached Myrtle’s bathroom. “Not what I expected when you claimed you needed the water closet, Potter.”

Harry sighed, before saying, “Funny. You should be warned, there’s a basilisk down there if I’m right.”  
“How has it been getting around?” McGonnagall asked.  
Harry shrugged. “We can ask Hermione when she gets out of this.”  
McGonnagall nodded, and Harry cleared his throat, before saying in Parseltongue, “ _Er… open, please_?”

Apparently it worked, as the sinks lifted away to reveal a chute.  
“After you, Professor.” Harry offered.  
Her mouth quirked up. “Thank you, Potter.”

In the end, Tom Riddle was vanquished by Minerva McGonnagall, though she was aided by Ginevra Weasley pushing him into the water while he was distracted.  
Harry Potter helped, of course, what with grabbing the diary and running off with it (and subsequently ending up in a war with Tom over the basilisk), but Minerva forced the possession out of Ginny, and incapacitated the basilisk, in the end leading both of her students back up to the surface primly.

“Ah, Minerva, lemon drop?” Albus smiled, strolling out of her classroom behind the students.  
“Harry Potter is holding something incredibly dark.” She replied stiffly.  
 “…so, what you’re saying is that this is more of a chocolate frog moment?” Albus beamed.  
McGonnagall narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m saying that this is more of a liquorice wand moment, Albus.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened, and Harry raised an eyebrow. Clearly there was some sort of code here.  
“I see. And Miss Weasley?”  
“Possessed by it until I forced him back into it.”  
Dumbledore made a motion for them to follow him, and their procession made its way through Hogwarts; Dumbledore, uncharacteristically silent at the head, McGonnagall, head held high following, Harry, the book held at arm’s length, and finally Ginny, who was not crying but occasionally paused to rub her eyes as if the light hurt them.

“Sugar quills.” Dumbledore told the gargoyle.  
“Rough day?” It commented.  
“You have no idea. Sadly, it was not my day.” Dumbledore looked back at the students behind them. “Ah well.”

The procession continued.  
“Miss Weasley, start from the beginning.” McGonnagall commanded.  
The two students wove their story, until there was a long pause.  
“There’s still a basilisk.” Harry pointed out.  
“Minerva, how did you incapacitate it?” Dumbledore asked.  
“I burnt it a bit. I tried to aim for its eyes.” She replied.

“ _Master, where are you?_ ”  
“Basilisk.” Harry said more urgently. “On the move.”  
“ _Master, I’m coming to find you. Don’t leave me alone again, Master…”_  
“Could we give it to Hagrid?” Dumbledore asked. “It could live in the Forbidden Forest.”

“It wasn’t truly blinded.” McGonnagall sighed. “I also had to focus on the children. It was enormous, Albus… I think it may have been Salazar Slytherin’s familiar.”  
“That old?” Dumbledore breathed. “How…?”  
“Big snake coming this way.” Harry pointed out, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “Very upset about all this. Can we skip the theories and start trying to contain it?”

“Mr. Potter, can you tell the basilisk to stay put while we work out a plan?” Dumbledore asked.  
“I could. It seems upset. Upset things don’t tend to listen to scrawny twelve year olds.” Harry pointed out, waving his arms drastically.  
“The basilisk gets moody easily.” Ginny agreed. “He likes scratches behind his head and belly rubs and gets upset if he doesn’t get attention.”  
Harry nodded. “See how reasonable that is?”

“Mr. Potter, if you please?” Dumbledore asked.  
“ _Just stay put._ ” Harry sighed.  
“ _No! Who was that? Who took the girl who smells of red and the book?_ ”  
“ _I did._ ”  
“ _Well, put them back. Or I shall eat you_.” The basilisk sounded somewhat petulant.

“ _The girl does not want to come back_.”  
“ _The girl loved me. I loved the girl. You may keep the book_.”  
“It wants Ginny back.” Harry said.  
“Not yet.” Ginny pointed out. “And not if I can’t speak parseltongue anymore.”

 _“The girl says later. She cannot speak the tongue now._ ”  
“ _It does not matter if she could not speak it. She was kinder than any of the speakers were. I want the girl._ ”  
“ _We are talking about letting you live in the forest where there are many things to eat._ ”  
“ _…and the girl? She can come to visit?_ ”

“The basilisk agrees to live in the forest, but he wants Ginny to visit.” Harry said, before frowning. “How can it… it’s close by.”  
McGonnagall looked as though she was on the verge of a heart attack. Dumbledore coolly ate a lemon drop. “And the book?”

“Dark magic.” McGonnagall huffed.  
“ _Speaker? Where are you?”_  
“Right here. We are discussing the book now.”  
“ _I will bite the book. Biting things kills them, and I wish to kill the book_.”  
“And you’ll do this if the girl comes and visits you?”  
“Of course. Also, I no longer wish to reside here. I shall move into the forest you speak of.”

“The basilisk offered to bite the book.”  
“If it is what I think it is, Minerva, that may be the answer you seek.” Dumbledore consumed another lemon drop.

“It’s not just _any_ bit of dark magic.” McGonnagall growled. “The girl called it ‘Tom’, but she didn’t know his last name. It’s Tom Riddle, Albus. You know what that means.”  
The office fell silent, vaguely punctuated by a sudden crunch of a lemon drop.  
“So… who is Tom Riddle?” Harry asked nonchalantly.  
“Lord Voldemort.” Dumbledore replied. “And an issue we will discuss in greater detail. Minerva, I think you should accompany the children to their meeting with the basilisk.”

 _“We’re going outside now.”_  
“And the girl?” The basilisk asked hopefully.  
_“Of course.”_ Harry answered. As the children left, McGonngall shot Dumbledore a look, gesturing to Harry. He shrugged. These things happen in mysterious ways. And it wasn’t as if the boy had been letting loose the basilisk, after all.

Fawkes let out a squawk, and Dumbledore nodded. “Lemon drop?”  
The children however, were somewhat happy. By children, it is almost certainly Harry and Ginny since everyone else was screaming and running away from the front lawn.  
“That was quite an ordeal, Ms. Weasley.” McGonnagall pointed out. “Are you sure you don’t need time to rest?”  
“Better now than have him curl up near my hospital bed.” Ginny cracked a grin. “Besides, I had a break from Tom recently… sort of…”

McGonnagall opened the door to outside of the castle. Curled up on itself was the basilisk.  
“ _You brought the girl. You are a good speaker. She doesn’t smell wrong or scared._ ”  
“ _She wanted to come this time. All on her own. I wouldn’t have forced her to._ ” Harry replied.  
“ _…you and the girl are… the Name marked ones? Like your kind has?_ ”  
“ _What?! No! We’re just friends! She’s my friend’s sister!”_

The basilisk gave a sound that reminded Harry suspiciously of a snort. _“Bring me the book_.”  
Harry and Ginny approached slowly, with Harry setting the book down in front of the basilisk and Ginny climbing up behind his head. “You were the only part I liked.” She breathed.  
_“What did she say?”_  
“She said you were the only part she liked of the ordeal.”  
The snake gave a happy noise, before opening its mouth and striking.

“Potter!” McGonnagall screamed.  
Harry looked back. “I’m fine.”  
“I just… that was worrying.” McGonnagall pointed out, looking anywhere but at the children and their giant snake.  
Harry beamed at her. “Thank you, professor!”

The book, meanwhile, was dissolving on the front lawn. The basilisk had kept its eyes closed the entire time, leaning into his girl’s hands.  
“Alright there, Gin’?” Hagrid asked, wandering by. “Minnie?”  
“We’re fine, thank you, Rubeus.”  
“Big beastie there.”  
“Well, he’ll soon be living in the Forest with the rest of your brood.” McGonnagall smiled. “Now are you two quite finished?”

The colour was returning to Ginny’s cheeks. “A bit more?”  
“Miss Weasley, I am facing a howler from your mother as it is.” McGonnagall huffed. “Not many parents are understanding of allowing their youngest child to play with a basilisk.”  
“I need a familiar though.”  
“Adopting the former familiar of a dark wizard is generally frowned upon.”  
“It’s not his fault.” Ginny pointed out. “The basilisk didn’t ask to be chosen by Slytherin.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Ron would find this insane. The twins would freak out over the mayhem the three of them could cause. Percy would probably faint. Though clearly, despite her bond with the giant snake, the Sorting Hat had chosen correctly when it came to Ginny Weasley.


	4. In Which we Meet Astoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius and Narcissa banter while Draco continues to be awkward. Also, Harry talks about the Dursleys.

“Don’t be nervous, duckling.” Narcissa cooed at Platform 9 ¾ on September 1st as she fixed Draco’s collar. “She’ll love you.”  
“If she’s anything like Narcissa, you’ll relish your years of freedom.” Lucius gave a rare smile.  
Draco stared at him, terrified. “What does that mean? Will she tie me to my bed?!”  
Lucius began coughing, and Narcissa reddened slightly. “No, darling… he means that he was under the rather sad impression I would goad him into fights he couldn’t win just for the hell of it.”  
“The tying came later…” Lucius muttered.

Narcissa kicked him gently, scowling.  
“Astoria is going to do that?!” Draco was on the verge of panicking, though he thankfully seemed to ignore Lucius.  
“I could hold my own against her sadism.” Lucius pointed out. “And you can too.”  
“It wasn’t sadistic, you were just so cute when you lost an argument like that. You’d get all huffy and stomp away.” Narcissa pouted. “I hated to say goodbye, but Merlin knows I loved to watch you leave.”  
“Cissy, we are in public!” Lucius hissed.

“Don’t worry Draco, you inherited the Black talent for arguing, and some of your father’s best…” Narcissa trailed off, eying Lucius’ backside. “…assets.”  
“ _Cissy_!” Lucius growled. “You kicked me when I referenced—”  
“Goodbye, Mother, Father, I’m going to do it.” Draco announced.  
“Goodbye, duckling.” Narcissa kissed the top of his head. “Good luck.” They watched their son walk away, and as soon as he was out of hearing range, Narcissa whirled on her husband. “Talking about _that_ night is quite different from me complimenting your backside, Lucius.”

“Is it now?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “Your standards, while as impeccable as usual, are double standards.”  
Narcissa pouted again. “I thought we promised never to speak of that night again after how it went. It was so awkward, Lucius.”  
“I did the math, and I think that’s the night Draco was conceived.” Lucius pointed out.  
Narcissa sighed. “That would explain a lot… though the other explanation was that he got it from you.”  
“Me?!” Lucius sputtered.  
Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “Lucius, you were an awkward, gangly teenager with beautiful hair and too much time on your hands. I, however, was a well-renowned socialite who had even better hair and the ability to manage my activities. Now, which one does Draco sound like, hmm?”

Lucius mockingly laid his hand over his heart. “I thought we were over that. But if you insist, Draco will likely inherit my height. What is it Blacks are renowned for being, again?”  
“Rich, powerful, trendsetters?”  
“Mm… no. I was thinking… short.” Lucius flashed a grin, and Narcissa covered her smile. “You have a point, Lucius. Draco is the best of both of us. He has your height. And my everything else. Besides your ass, of course.”  
Lucius nearly choked with laughter. “Narcissa, stop. We’re supposed to be elegant.”  
“Oh, yes. I forgot, lesson one of being a socialite is how to compliment your husband’s ass elegantly.” She snorted.  
“You started it.”  
“Hopefully Draco inherited my skills for flirting as well. Merlin knows you were shit at it.”  
“I won _your_ heart.”

She grabbed a fistful of his robes, pulling him into a kiss. “Rubbish. I won your heart, and decided it would be too much trouble to reject you. Though I admit your awkwardness and stance as a little lost puppy half the time did draw me in a bit. It was endearing.”  
“I’ll have you know Henrietta Burke practically fainted whenever I smiled at her.”  
Narcissa’s mouth was a thin line. “Did she now.”  
“Oh, yes. And Clarisse Selwyn was reduced to a stuttering wreck when I looked her way.” Lucius smirked.  
"Next you’ll tell me that Parkinson girl had an enormous crush on you.” Narcissa noted with disgust.

“Really, Narcissa? _Jealous_?”  
“Of course not.” She scoffed. “The very idea is ridiculous.”  
Lucius looked like the cat that had the canary. “Oh, really? Then how do you feel about the fact that Melissa Travers—”  
“Lucius, unless you want to hear that Melissa Travers was suddenly and secretly murdered in her sleep tomorrow in the Prophet, I suggest you cease this course of action immediately.” Narcissa said flatly.  
“Not until you admit I’m a catch. Or that you’re jealous. Both the same, really.”  
“You really need me to tell you you’re a catch? My my, Lucius, bad meeting at the Ministry?” Narcissa cooed. “The witch fetching tea didn’t fall over with her legs in the air when you smiled at her?”  
“More like my loving wife can’t even admit she loves me.” Lucius mimicked Narcissa’s earlier pout.  
She laughed. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

“Doesn’t count.”  
“…you’ll really make me say it? In public? What would Mother say?”  
“We’re married, Narcissa. It’s just words. Words that rank extremely low on the list of filthy things we’ve told each other.”  
“Hmph. Mother only told Father she loved him twice in their lifetimes. Once on their 15th anniversary when she was drunk on French wine, and when Father was on his deathbed. That’s really the proper level of decorum, Lucius, and we both know I have far exceeded my limit of two already.”  
“That explains your sisters.”  
“ _Lucius_.”  
“Narcissa.” He smirked, before offering her his arm. “Shall we relocate this discussion to our master bedroom?”  
“Terrible flirt.” She took it.

On the train, Draco was nervous. His careful ~~spying~~ ~~stalking~~ _surveillance_ , had led him to where Astoria was no doubt seated, despite Daphne’s best efforts. The elder girl had been watching for him, hurrying her sister along whenever his shadow darkened the door before splitting them up. He sent Crabbe and Goyle after her (since she was likely watching for them anyway) and gathered his courage before opening the compartment Astoria was left in (the last place Daphne had thought he’d look, likely). Five faces looked up at him, and a sixth snored away by the window. He felt his face grow hot. Only one course of action, then. “Potter! What are you doing here?”  
“I could ask you the same, Malfoy.” Harry shrugged. “Especially since you sought us out.”  
Draco ground his teeth, before thrusting the flower he was holding at the dark-haired girl sitting across from Ginny Weasley.  
“Um, thank you?” She asked.

He sat down next to her.  
“Malfoy, we’re not friends. Why are you here?” Ron demanded.  
Draco gestured to Astoria. Clearly the Gryffindors had reached her first. Bugger.  
“Oh, your obsession.” Harry noted.  
“It’s not an obsession!” Draco hissed. Ron muttered something about marriage, and Hermione looked scandalized. “Did he really?”  
“Ask your mum and dad.” Ron replied. “They were there. They probably heard him. And her father kept saying, ‘you’re twelve, you can’t marry—”  
Draco’s cheeks burned. “Weasley! What is your favorite Quidditch team?!”

There, Weasley liked Quidditch, right? It would also change the subject to something he was good at. “Chudley Cannons.” Ron scoffed. “So—”  
“It’s obviously the Kenmare Kestrels.” Draco broke in again quickly. “Just look at their scoring.”  
“Oh, I disagree.” Astoria smirked. “The Falmouth Falcons are the best.” Draco thanked the Heavens she loved Quidditch. The carriage quickly devolved into an argument, ending with Ron chanting the Chudley Cannons anthem while Ginny screamed back that of the Holyhead Harpies.  
“You know… I’m Slytherin seeker.” Draco smiled at Astoria. She smiled back, though she inched away. “My sister didn’t mention that.”

He snorted. “She wouldn’t. She doesn’t seem to like Quidditch that much.”  
Astoria shrugged. “She did mention you though…”  
“O-oh?” The carriage fell suspiciously silent. He fought the urge to glare at all four of them and tell them to bugger off. “Was it accurate?”  
“That remains to be seen.”  
Astoria seemed to look past him. “From what Mother and Father have mentioned in passing, it seems to be backed up.”  
“It’s all good though, right?” He gave a nervous laugh, and in his peripheral vision, he could see Potter shaking his head.

Astoria stared at him. “What do you think, Draco Malfoy?”  
“You’re a Pureblood.”  
“Ron, our Pureblood license has been revoked.” Ginny snorted. “Pack up your bags, we have to move in with the Muggles now.”  
Astoria ignored her. “It’s common knowledge. What does my blood status have to do with anything?”  
“You know how it is!” Draco hissed. “How everyone’s beneath us!”  
He moved to take her hand, and she withdrew it. “I don’t know that. So far, I’ve met a muggleborn who was very smart, a halfblood who was quite funny, and two ‘blood traitors’ that did their best to welcome me. Even if I was raised like you, I think it would make sense for the theory to be revisited, don’t you?”  
Draco swallowed. “This is a mistake.”

“Us, or…?” Astoria trailed off, while Harry sucked in a deep breath.   
“This! You were supposed to fall desperately in love with me!”  
Astoria raised an eyebrow, before looking him up and down. “Obviously.” She remarked drily.  
Draco huffed. “I’m not going to spend five years chasing you, Greengrass.”  
“Promise?” Ron murmured.  
“Do you have anything to add, Weasley? Or are you too poor to afford proper insults?” Draco spat.  
Ron’s eyes narrowed. “No, actually. For example, imagine how attractive you are right now. You get rejected and immediately you start lashing out –especially when it was one of the problems she had with you--! Move over, Hermione, we have a new brightest-of-our-age in our midst!” He fakely clapped, and Harry and Ginny quickly joined in.

Hermione’s mouth was a thin line. “This is going to go south quickly.”  
Draco, meanwhile, drew his wand. “Would you like to put your spells where your mouth is? I challenge you to a duel.”  
“Who’d be your second?” Ron snorted. “Crabbe and Goyle are gone, and everyone here hates you. Really descriptive of the real world, isn’t it?”  
Draco ground his teeth. “I don’t need a second.”  
“I’ll act as his second.” Hermione noted.  
“Why?” Ginny asked.  
“So that Ron can duel him properly.” Hermione reasoned.

“Thank you, Granger.” Draco’s years of etiquette lessons shone through. The teens rose, only to all fall in a jumbled heap as the train stopped.  
“You’re on my leg.” Astoria whined.  
“Oi, Malfoy, get your arse out of my face!” Ron snapped.  
“As soon as Granger moves her arm to free me!”  
“Well, I’m sort of trapped in a Twister position. Harry, get off me!”  
“I’m not Harry.” Ginny snapped. “Speaking of which, Harry’s hair is tickling my nose.”  
“I’m definitely not on top!” Harry replied testily. “I think Astoria is.”

It didn’t matter. In a minute, the squabbling teens were stilled by the presence of something that chilled them to their very core. While Harry went limp, the seventh occupant of the carriage leapt up and expelled the Dementor. “Is everyone alright?” The adult asked.  
“I resemble a pretzel.” Draco huffed. “Other than that, I suppose I am fine, yes.”  
“We’re fine too.” Ginny piped up. "And we've also got likable personalities."  
Following introductions, Lupin helped them untangle themselves and propped Harry up, unwrapping a chocolate frog. “Here, have some.”

“Who screamed?” Harry asked as he came around. “Was it Malfoy? It sounded rather like a woman.”  
“My voice broke well before yours and you know it, Potter.” Draco snarled. “If anything, it was Weasley.”  
“I don’t scream.” Ginny snorted.  
“I meant the other one, but that works too.” Draco huffed.  
“No one screamed, Harry. You fainted.” Hermione pointed out.  
Harry munched on the sweet. “I don’t suppose this can be explained as easily as the voices last year?”  
“Speaking of which, Gin has been bothering me all summer about you teaching her how to speak… you know.” Ron huffed, shooting his sister a look.

Ginny shrugged. “I have a basilisk, Ron. It’s not like it wouldn’t come in handy.”  
“How did you get a basilisk, anyway?” Astoria asked in wonder.  
Ginny shrugged. “It’s more like it has me, but it’s lonely, and I give it the attention it wants, so we’ve come to a conclusion. I don’t think his original wizard would mind, seeing as he’s dead.”  
“Likely killed by the basilisk.” Draco snorted. “Though I am impressed with your choice of pet, Weasley. Are you thinking of joining our noble house?”  
“No. Why would I want to hang out with a bunch of pale people with little to talk about besides how great they are in a dingy, horribly lit common room?” Ginny snorted. “You _wish_ I wanted to leave Gryffindor to deal with all of you.”

“You’re more confident than last year.” Hermione noted.  
“Having a basilisk as a familiar tends to do that for you.” Ginny replied.  
“I don’t recall basilisks being on the list of allowed animals, do you?” Lupin asked.  
“Slytherin had a basilisk.” Harry pointed out. “And Ron has a rat. Really, I don’t think the rules are such a big thing here.”  
Something quite terrible occurred to Draco. “Weasley… the girl one… you wouldn’t happen to have Slytherin’s…?”  
“Well, it was left in Hogwarts.” Ginny shrugged. Draco felt faint. Father would not be pleased. Somehow, the Weasley girl had managed to find and control Salazar Slytherin’s basilisk. And he hadn’t.  
“Let’s talk of something happier. How are you doing, Harry?” Lupin asked.

“Better.” Said boy smiled. “Thank you for the chocolate.”  
“No problem.” Lupin smiled back, but his was sadder. “Chocolate counters dementors.”  
“Because of the endorphins in it?” Hermione asked.  
Lupin looked surprised. “Well… probably. I wouldn’t know exactly, I haven’t been near Muggle science since I was a boy.”  
Hermione nodded. “That was a strong reaction, Harry.”  
“At this point, I’m sure they bring the worst memories to the surface. I’m sure Harry has some bad ones.” Lupin patted Harry’s shoulder.

Harry’s mouth was a thin line. “Nothing you all need to be concerned with. I’m fine now, that’s what matters.”  
“We’re your friends.” Astoria pouted. “Why can’t you trust us?”  
“Well, for one thing, Malfoy is here, for another, I doubt it’s actually that bad. None of you need to be concerned, I’m probably making too big of a deal out of it.” Harry tried to brush them off.  
“Harry James Potter, what aren’t you telling us?” Hermione demanded.  
“Again, it’s nothing.” Harry was starting to get more worked up.  
“Clearly it’s not nothing, Potter.” Draco scoffed. “Even I can tell that much. And don’t worry, if it’s nothing like you say, I certainly won’t go running to the rest of the Slytherins with it. I might not go running anyway, if it’s bad enough.”

Hermione whirled on him, while Ginny and Ron scowled. “Who are you to decide whether it’s bad enough, Malfoy? It’s hurting Harry, so it’s clearly bad! It was bad enough to make that thing make him pass out, so it’s clearly not a walk in the park! Not all of us are stuck up prats waddling around with our father’s money, crying for our parents when everything goes wrong!”  
“Well, my parents _are_ dead.” Harry deadpanned. “That would put a bit of a dent in that plan.”  
Lupin cracked a small smile. “You have your mother's wit.”  
“You aren’t letting him get sidetracked, sir.” Ron said firmly. “Harry is going to sit down and tell us what’s wrong, and _then_ you can have your spiel about his mum and dad.”

“I would like to hear about my dead parents more.” Harry frowned.  
“Your friend has a point. Tell us what’s wrong, and then I can tell you all about James and Lily.” Lupin compromised.  
Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s really nothing. I’m sure you’ve all spent some time in the family cupboard or had a few beatings with the belt.” Bit by bit, he elaborated. By the end of it, even Draco was stunned. Ron and Lupin looked murderous, Hermione was rifling through a book of what appeared to be particularly malicious hexes, and the youngest Weasley was writing down furiously references for Hermione to look up in said book.  
Lupin took a deep breath. “And… you just came from these Muggles?”  
“Of course. They wouldn’t waste the money to send me elsewhere.” Harry shrugged.

“Potter, how are you so blasé?” Draco demanded.  
“Don’t your parents do this?” Harry wondered.  
“Of course not!” The Weasleys cried in unison.  
“My parents just limit my books.” Hermione looked up from one of said books long enough to give Malfoy a death glare implying his entrails would be the instrument dragging him behind the Hogwarts Express if he dared to blow off Potter’s problem. He glared back. He may not like Potter. At all. But Potter was still in a horrific situation.  
“You’re so brave.” Astoria breathed.  
Harry shrugged. “It’s not so much bravery as outsmarting Uncle Vernon and Dudley. It’s not that hard. They only have about half a brain between them and even then it seems to be made of melted ice cream mixed with day old mash. Aunt Petunia can’t even hit that hard. Now, Professor… Lupin, was it? You said you had information about my parents.”

“James was one of my closest friends. And I – _even I_!—would have been better than _them_ …” Lupin muttered.  
“So… what was my dad like in school?”  
“He was… he was very clever. And charismatic.” Lupin forced himself to relax. “He was the leader of our group of friends. We called ourselves the Marauders.” Lupin’s soft words filled the compartment on the way to Hogwarts. As the train pulled into the station, Lupin rose to leave, and the students began to collect their things.  
“Potter, don’t think this changes anything. I still hate you.” Draco sneered.  
“I didn’t expect anything to change.” Harry shrugged, raising an eyebrow.  
“Let me finish! I will, however… keep the others from saying anything about your parents or something like that. And I won’t tell them about all… this. Astoria’s right, you are brave.”  
“A compliment from _you_? Where are the flying pigs?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

Draco glared at him. “Shut up, Potter. I’m trying to be nice. You’re still a prat who charges into danger at every opportunity. Even Vincent and Greg aren’t that thick. And another thing! Vincent and Greg don’t mouth off at everyone and everything like you do! It’s a wonder you didn’t get your brains bashed out in first year, Merlin knows you probably tried to insult the troll into complacency!”  
“Now that I think of it, I do think he tried that tactic…” Ron muttered. Hermione poked him.  
“Is that the nicest thing you have to say to me, Malfoy?”

“I’m hardly going to confess my undying love for you, Potter.” Draco scoffed. “And if you ever stop being so unbearable, we could maybe –possibly— be friends. You could come over during the holidays. I’m sure Mother would welcome you.” With that, Draco swept out of the cabin, and everyone left turned to look at Astoria.  
“I do hope Malfoy’s not going to be all nice now that she’s here.” Ron noted. “I enjoyed hating him.”  
“Malfoy will always be a prat.” Ginny said dismissively. “But he’s not the real issue here.”  
“Draco does seem a bit better than Daphne made him out to be.” Astoria murmured.  
“Don’t tell me you want to snog _Malfoy_.” Ron snorted.  
Hermione glared at him. “Who she wants to snog or not is her business, Ron! Besides, that’s the nicest I’ve ever seen Malfoy be. If that’s how he is after an hour with her, she could make him much better.”

“Oi, don’t force her to be with the git because you want him off your backs!” Ginny growled, before taking Astoria’s hand. “C’mon, I’ll take you to the boats.” Astoria’s cheeks felt like they were on fire as the older girl pulled her through the throng of students milling about. Ginny’s hand was warm and soft, and Astoria felt safe with her. “Goodbye, Astoria. See you at the feast!” All of a sudden, Ginny’s hand was gone and Astoria was herded into a boat. Astoria waved back tentatively, her cheeks still on fire. She didn’t want to snog Draco. He was a spoiled brat. Ginny Weasley, however… well, that would remain to be seen. Besides, they were both entirely too young, anyway.


	5. In Which the Teachers talk

Astoria Greengrass was a Slytherin.

That was unimportant to Remus Lupin. What was important was how the Weasleys closed ranks around Harry, how Hermione Granger pulled the two elder ones over and forced them to sit down across from Harry and cheer him up with as little explanation as possible, and how Harry looked happy. Of course, Harry wasn’t the only Marauder’s relative in the hall at the moment. Remus watched Sirius’ nephew for a moment. He was certainly eating more delicately than the Weasley twins, but was bragging.  
“I heard Harry Potter fainted on the train.” One of the Slytherins snickered.  
Draco scowled. “Potter? I doubt it. He’s a Gryffindor, they’re extraordinarily brave. Besides, why on Earth would Potter faint?” That was unexpected. Perhaps Sirius’ family wasn’t made up of swots and gits as the Animagus had previously thought.

Remus sipped his drink slowly. “Thinking of your precious Black, _Remus_?” Snape sneered next to him.  
Remus choked on his drink. “No, simply bemoaning the seating charts. I wasn’t aware I had to deal with your stench, you see.”  
“Clever, Remus.” Snape deadpanned. “It’s a wonder you weren’t a Ravenclaw with your wit. Truly, insults about one’s body odor at our age is simply inspired. Perhaps you were never as smart as I thought.”  
“At least I never pined over someone else’s soulmate.” Remus shrugged.  
Snape ground his teeth. “How fortunate for you. Speaking of soulmates, how’s Black?”  
Remus stiffened. “I wouldn’t know, Severus. I haven’t seen him in about twelve years, after all.”

Snape snorted. “Like you could last that long without seeing him. Besides, you look far too happy to have seen him that long ago.”  
“I saw his picture in the Prophet a while back.” Remus remarked. “It raised my spirits greatly.”  
“The picture where Black looks like the mad dog he is?” Snape scoffed.  
Remus’ grip on the glass tightened. “Let it be, _Severus_. The Ministry of Magic already questioned me extensively, under Veritaserum.”  
Snape leaned back. “Then that’s it then.”  
“It is.”

“I hear you’ve already met my godson.”  
“Sirius’ cousin?”  
“Narcissa’s son, yes.”  
“The boy is spoiled, but he’s got a halfway decent heart under there.”  
“I hope you would at least say the same for Potter.” Snape scoffed.  
“James never—”  
“I meant his spawn.” Snape growled. “James Potter is dead, and this is the first time I’ve had to deal with any of his band of miscreants in over a decade.”

Remus ground his teeth, before remarking, “You know what they say about assuming, Severus. It makes an ass out of you and me.”  
“Unable to accept that James’ son is anything less than perfect?” Snape scoffed. “I am not surprised.”  
“Severus.” Remus ground out. “Leave it be. Whatever your problems were with us, don’t take them out on Harry. He’s dealt with… with more than we could ever realize. And once we’re all sequestered in our rooms, I shall take it up with Dumbledore.”  
Snape eyed him suspiciously. “The boy already gets special treatment.”  
“Like Draco Malfoy does from you?” Remus asked sweetly.  
“…that was actually a competent insult.” Snape muttered into his own drink.

“Severus, let’s just put that aside for the moment. I need you, and you need me to not go running about telling everyone what a gigantic git you were because the faculty would all laugh at you and you’d be forced into your little bat cave to sulk with your Slytherins. We’re adults. James is dead. Sirius was interned in Azkaban. Peter is... Peter's dead too.”  
A pause fell over the two men, before Snape observed, “Odd, that Black was indicted, when I never saw him at any Death Eater meetings. I couldn’t say the same of Pettigrew, though.”  
Remus looked at him slowly. “Are you telling me Peter was a Death Eater?”  
“Oh, of course. I was Inner Circle. I kept track of everyone. Thankfully for my sanity, your Black was the only one of their brood to stay away, besides Andromeda. Can’t imagine why Pettigrew was included, though. He always struck me as superfluous.”

Remus froze. “You… kept this… from _everyone_ … for such a long time?!”  
“What does it change? Black still killed all those Muggles.” Snape shrugged.  
“So help me God, if I find out you let Sirius go to Azkaban with no proof while your slimy, snake self stuck it out here, Merlin help you when the full moon rolls around, Wolfsbane or no.” Remus hissed as quietly as possible. Unlike the teenagers on the train, he had no wish to tell the world about his secrets.  
“What happened to civility?” Snape retorted.

Meanwhile, Draco was staring unabashedly at Astoria Greengrass, whose sister continuously checked her over, especially once she found out Draco had been in the same cabin as her.  
“Did he try to touch you inappropriately?” Daphne demanded.  
“No.” Astoria blinked, wide-eyed.  
“For Merlin’s sake, Greengrass. Draco is hardly going to leap out of the bushes wearing nothing but a trenchcoat.” Pansy snorted.  
“Mother would throw a fit.” Draco agreed.  
“Ten Galleons if you do it.” Theodore Nott said from behind a book by Diana Galbaldon.

“Twenty!” Blaise Zabini chimed in.  
“Thirty-five.” Marcus Flint smirked. Draco cleared his throat, cheeks burning. He was hardly a Gryffindor. And even Professor Snape would find any explanation for Draco to be parading about in nothing but a trench coat lacking. “Such paltry amounts.”  
“You’ve flustered him.” Pansy Parkinson cooed. “How cute.”  
Theodore gave her a long look. “Really, Pansy?”  
“I’m allowed to think he’s cute, Nott.” She scoffed.  
“For his sake, I believe you should keep it to yourself. Traditionally, when one seduces your soulmate, they must be dueled.” Theodore pointed out. “I’d hate to do that to Draco, we’re friends. Imagine if he was burnt to a crisp. The conversation would never be as sparkling.”

“In your dreams, Theo. Besides, I can’t help that my looks make all the girls swoon.” Draco scoffed. Nott raised an eyebrow, and Blaise Zabini laughed so hard he nearly choked on his dinner. Crabbe clapped him on the back. “Thanks Vince.” He gave a grin, before resuming howling with laughter.  
“Stop laughing!” Draco hissed.  
“Why? I’ve seen you wake up every day for a few months! You usually look like a young child, or if you’re lucky, a wet cat. After you get your tea, you don’t look much better. If we weren’t friends, you would look like the kind of kid I’d get Vincent to punch.” Blaise guffawed.  
Theodore grinned. “True. Poor Greengrass, having to deal with your ugly morning-face after we all leave Hogwarts. I don’t envy her. At least Blaise, Vince, Greg and I only have to deal with it for seven years total.”  
“Like you’re so much better, Theodore.” Draco huffed. “I nearly mistook you for a troll before we broke for the summer, isn’t that right, Blaise?”  
“Mm… true.” The Italian smirked. “At least Malfoy understands proper hair care.”

Both boys threw a roll at their friend. “Greg! They’re attacking me!” Blaise cried, though his eyes sparkled with laughter. Meanwhile, the Gryffindors were calmer, for once.  
“Gin, we’re so proud you’ve grown a spine, and can sit next to Harry Potter.” George grinned.  
“Especially after—” Fred was cut off by a howl when Ginny kicked him, scowling.  
“Odd, after your Val—” George gave a howl to match his brother.  
“Stop talking about it.” Ginny hissed. “It’s bad enough I had to sit with Malfoy and watch him make eyes at a first year who wasn’t interested, but you two are not going to bring that up!”

“Is ickle Ginnikins scared?” One of the twins cooed.  
“He’s got to find out sometime, she’s had the mark forever.”  
“Do you two want to lose your other shins?” Ginny demanded. Both twins ignored her, instead choosing to stare at Harry.  
“You aren’t ignoring our sister, or anything, are you?”  
Harry nearly spat out his pumpkin juice. “What would I ignore her for? Ron?”  
Ron stared at the ceiling. “Wow, look at that. Lovely tonight.”  
“ _Ron_.”

“So lovely.” The redhead in question noted. “I don’t think I could bear to look away until this conversational topic was changed.”  
“Subtle.” Hermione noted.  
“But Potter, you have to understand, Gin is the youngest. We have to know you’re going to take care of her.” George pointed out.  
“Or we’ll take care of you.” Fred grinned. “Shame, really. We liked you. You would have been a good addition to the fami—” He stopped abruptly at the look on Ginny’s face.  
“You two are never this nice to me.” Ron finally looked away from the all-important ceiling.  
“You’re not the youngest.” Both twins remarked in unison.  
“Mum would have our heads.”  
“Besides, Gin’s scarier than you.” And that was that.

Dinner proceeded regularly, and everyone retired. Later, Remus paced Dumbledore’s office. Besides the Headmaster, Madame Pomfrey and Deputy Headmistress McGonagall were in attendance, watching the professor rant and pace. “—He admitted as much when all his friends confronted him on the train!” Lupin finally finished, eyes wild.  
McGonagall slowly turned to look at Dumbledore. “Twelve years ago, you told me Harry Potter would be safe there.”  
Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “Clearly I must speak with Petunia.”  
Madame Pomfrey’s head snapped towards him. “Why? Why not just go in and take his things and be done with it?”  
“Because while their behavior was deplorable—”

“You’re going to send him back.” Remus whispered. “You’re going to send James and Lily’s son back to those people!”  
“It’s safe there.” Dumbledore sighed. “You must understand, Lily’s blood magic—”  
“Merlin’s lacy lingerie, Albus! A few strong wards would best it easily!” McGonagall exclaimed. “Don’t go waffling on about ‘blood magic’, I’d sooner place the boy with Severus Snape than send him back there! Hogwarts has some of the best wards in the world.”  
“Are we actually considering Severus Snape?” Madame Pomfrey asked, scandalized. “He’d traumatize the boy!”  
“We are not putting Harry with Snape!” Lupin agreed. “I-I would take him myself before that happened.”  
Dumbledore sighed. “This is for Harry’s own good.”

“His own good?!” The three staff members sputtered.  
“Leaving him with-with those _people_ is for his own good?!”  
“They’d kill him!”  
“Albus, of all the decisions you’ve ever made, this is one of the worst.” McGonnagall finished sternly. “Now, it’s time to accept that. Harry Potter will be removed from their custody quickly and quietly. If you try to fight this decision, Poppy and I shall drag it out into public. The Prophet would have a field day, Albus. Now, none of us want to hurt Harry Potter, so this is a last resort, but do not think I wouldn’t do it.”  
“Draco Malfoy might be able to get his father to call for your removal. Lucius Malfoy wouldn't need much provocation.” Remus added.  
“Where do you suggest we put the boy, then? James and Lily would have wanted him with Sirius Black or you, Remus. Now, for obvious reasons, we can’t do that. We could force him onto the Weasleys, having them care for yet another child would be somewhat cruel. Augusta Longbottom would scare the boy witless.” Dumbledore listed off.

McGonagall’s left eye twitched. “Anywhere is better than these people! I’d take the boy myself!”  
“Really, Minerva?” Dumbledore asked, interested. “ _You_ would raise Harry Potter?”  
“Why do you sound so surprised, Albus? I would take care of the boy but I wouldn’t spoil him to the lengths of Malfoy. He’d be safe behind Hogwarts’ wards. We already have a strong bond, and I have no intention of leaving my job.”  
Dumbledore leaned back. “Except, as of late, Hogwarts has been a magnet for danger. Why, just last year, we had a basilisk running amok.”  
“Said basilisk would probably do a better job raising Potter than the Dursleys.” McGonagall spat. “This is no longer up for debate, Albus. I am adopting Potter, Poppy will alert the Muggles to this outlandish behavior, and Remus shall stand in front of your desk and do his utmost best to look firm and unyielding.”  
Remus stepped forward. “Like this, Minerva?”  
“No, more imposing.”

“Oh…”  
“In any case, how threatening Remus may or may not be is irrelevant.”  
“It may become relevant if Sirius Black is on his way here.” Dumbledore argued.   
Remus blinked. “Why-why is Sirius…?”  
Dumbledore sighed. “The Aurors believe he’s after Harry, to finish what he started.”  
Remus let out a surprised laugh. “He-he… what? I’ve never heard anything so crazy. If Sirius wanted Harry, he’d have gone after him long ago. He could have killed him that night in Godric’s Hollow! And tonight, Snape told me Sirius was never a Death Eater, but Peter was!”  
“ _Severus_ told you that?” Madame Pomfrey breathed.  
Remus nodded jerkily. “It doesn’t change what happened with the Muggles, but Sirius sure as hell isn’t coming here for Harry. If-if anything… he’s coming for me.” He gestured to the words written on the inside of his ear. “He probably thinks I’ve betrayed him. Or something.”

“But why now?” McGonagall asked. “Why when you’re safely behind Hogwarts wards, which, may I remind you Albus, are some of the strongest in the world?”  
“Easier to find me now than in some Cornish ditch.” Remus shrugged. “When are you going to collect Harry, anyway?”  
McGonagall sighed. “First I need to approach him with the idea first. If he’s open to the idea, then I will approach the Muggles with the paperwork.”  
“In the meantime, it appears the Weasley children and Miss Granger have formed an honor guard around him.” Madame Pomfrey pointed out.  
Remus looked befuddled. “What’s ceremonial about it? If even one of them has half of Molly’s dueling capabilities, Harry will be fairly safe.”  
Madame Pomfrey grimaced. “Remus, they’re children, protecting another child.”  
“And they’re our last line of defense for Harry Potter.” McGonagall pointed out. “Now, I suggest our youngest professor gets to bed before he falls over and I am forced to levitate him back into his room.”

“Minerva, I’m hardly a student anymore.” Remus laughed. McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey exchanged a long look, before Madame Pomfrey withdrew a bottle from her apron. “Now, Remus…”  
“Poppy!” He squealed, before sprinting out of the room.  
“Next time, we should fill a chocolate frog with it and offer it to him. Knowing his sweet tooth, he’d never be able to resist it, even if we filled it with one of Snape’s horrid poisons.” McGonagall noted.  
“I thought that was how we were planning to administer the wolfsbane?” Madame Pomfrey replied.


	6. In Which McGonagall interacts with the family of Lily Evans

“Potter, may I speak with you?” McGonagall asked, sweeping down the hallway towards the Golden Trio.   
“Is this about my Hogsmeade form?” Harry asked innocently.   
“Not necessarily. May I speak with you alone?”

Ron and Hermione stepped back, and McGonagall led Harry into the nearest empty room. Well, meant to be empty, anyway. She raised an eyebrow at the fifth years, who stared back. “Ms. Havendish, Mr. Crawley, must I remind you that while Hogwarts is a place of learning and exploration, that particular acitvity is _not_ part of the curriculum? Though, given how exceedingly uncomfortable that looks for Ms. Havendish, perhaps we should invest in an anatomy class to at least teach you both that she is not meant to be a contortionist.”

 They hurried out, smoothing their clothes, and McGonagall steepled her fingers. “Potter… I have been informed of your situation, outside of Hogwarts.”   
Harry scowled. “Who told? It’s not a fuss, Professor.”   
“It does not matter who told me, it simply matters that we are going to fix it.”

“Why now, then?” Harry demanded. “Why not when I got my Hogwarts letter, addressed to my cupboard? Why not when I got injured, any of the times, and Madame Pomfrey didn’t tell anyone about the wounds on my back?”   
“The letters are automated, and I shall raise this issue with Poppy. Now, Potter, do you wish to return to that family?”

“No.” Harry muttered. “Doubt they’d take me willingly, anyway.”   
“And why is that, Potter?”   
“I blew up Uncle Vernon’s sister, like a balloon. It was an accident, anyway, but I left and that was that.”   
“What were you planning to do when the summer holidays rolled about?”

Harry shrugged. “I figured I had plenty of time between then and now. Hermione said her parents needed some help at their practice, I figured I could work as an assistant or run errands or something in exchange for sleeping on their couch.”   
McGonagall raised an eyebrow, before pulling the boy into a hug. He stiffened, before slackening. He did not reciprocate.

“While I admire your foresight and do not doubt the kindness of the Drs Granger, I have an alternative. Potter, if you are not against the idea, would you mind being adopted by me?”   
“What?” Harry blinked up at her in surprise.   
“You would remain at Hogwarts over the winter and summer vacations, beyond trips to your friends’ homes and the annual trip that I take up North to my family’s land. I would ensure that all of your needs are met, and upon my death, you would inherit all of my money that doesn’t go to my brothers or their respective children. In short, Potter, I would become a mother to you. Rest assured, this would not affect my dealings with you during school hours—”

She was abruptly cut off by a scrawny teenager hugging her tightly. “Thank you.”   
McGonagall smiled. “Thank _you_ , Mr. Potter. It’s not fun being alone in the world.”   
Harry wiped his eyes. “I know.”   
“Would you like to return to your friends now?”   
“I… sure.” Harry grinned. “Thank you, Professor.”

McGonagall ruffled his hair. “It’s not a problem, Potter.”    
They returned to the Potter pack, Harry still grinning.   
“What was that?” Ron asked.   
“McGonagall’s adopted me.”

Meanwhile, there was a certain shaggy black dog at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid had noticed him (and left him a bowl of meat) but now the second teacher was striding towards him.   
“What are you doing here?” Remus Lupin demanded.   
The dog’s tail wagged and his tongue lolled out of his mouth.   
“I know it’s you.”

The dog decided that this conversation should not take place here, and trotted off into the forest.   
Remus Lupin followed, expecting to find a smirking Sirius leaning against a tree. However, when Sirius turned back, he wasn’t smirking. Lupin doubted he could muster a smile. And one would not call Lupin a tree.

“You’re still so perfect.” Sirius whispered.   
Lupin embraced him. _He killed Peter and all those Muggles_. A traitorous voice whispered in his mind. _He’s our Sirius and he would never_. A stronger voice shouted back.   
“I was never perfect.”   
“Next to me, you look like a Greek statue.” Then Sirius scowled. “When did you last eat?”   
“Breakfast.”

Sirius’ scowl deepened. “So this isn’t new. Remus, you could have had Grimmauld Place.”   
“Both of us know that’s a lie.”   
Sirius let out a low whine. “You shouldn’t have been treated this way. Dumbledore should have taken care of you. You did nothing wrong.”   
“Neither did you!” Remus blurted out. “Well, you killed Peter, but he was a Death Eater and probably the one to kill all the Muggles anyway, but… you didn’t betray them. You didn’t deserve Azkaban breaking you.”

Sirius pulled Remus into a long kiss. “I’m alright. Dogs are naturally happy, right?”   
“That doesn’t make it okay! You were with murderers, thieves, Death Eaters… why didn’t you tell them what happened at your trial?”   
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “I had a trial? When?” Then he frowned, blinking a lot. “Did I… did I forget? No, no… they wouldn’t take that… they couldn’t… it wouldn’t have been happy.”

He blinked at Remus. “Was it happy?”   
“I don’t know, I always assumed you had a trial.” Remus breathed. “It doesn’t matter now. We’re going to clear your name. You hear me? I promise you.”   
Sirius cupped Remus’ face in his hands, smiling as though he had forgotten how and was trying to remember. “Remus, it won’t work unless we have the rat. I can say a great deal of things and you can say a great deal of things, but in the end, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Veritaserum works better than a carcass.”   
“Oh, Peter’s not dead. He’s with the Weasley boy.” Sirius raised an eyebrow. “And what if some Ministry toad starts whinging about you being a werewolf and not a proper witness, and me an insane convict? All that work for nothing.”   
“So you’re just going to live in the Forbidden Forest until we can get our hands on a man who may or may not be dead?”

“Oh, no. We also need someone credible to back us up.” Sirius clucked. “If it was just the rat, you could get him easily. Someone who is going to help us is hard to find.”   
“McGonagall would.”   
“Mm… doesn’t know he’s a Death Eater, does she? Matter of fact, how did you know?”

“Snape told me. And she _does_ know, I told her and Pomfrey and Dumbledore what Snape told me.”   
“…this sounds too simple. With Snivellus lurking about, there’s likely some step in place to trip us up.” Sirius noted suspiciously.   
“He might just want to help.” Remus shrugged.   
Sirius raised his eyebrow again. “And I might be half-pixie and wandering about on the back of a pink unicorn while eating a Knickerbocker glory, but what are the odds, Remus?”

“A Knickerbocker glory would be too rich for your stomach.” Remus sighed. “But I see your point. He’s always three steps ahead of us. What could he be planning, anyway?”   
“Lonely snakey things.” Sirius replied flippantly, before wrapping an arm around Remus’ waist. “It’s not fair that you’re taller than me.”   
“Well, you know. Rich, handsome, charismatic, can’t have everything.”   
“Since when are you charismatic?” Sirius snorted.

Remus stuck out his tongue. “I was talking about you, you git. And furthermore, _I_ was the one who was able to talk my way out of—”   
Sirius cut him off with a kiss. “Yeah, yeah.” For a fleeting moment, his previous swagger was back. Then it all fell apart. “I missed seeing you angry.”   
“You’ll have a lot more opportunities once we solve all this.”   
“You trust me so much… how do you know I’m trustworthy, anyway? Snivellus and I could be lying.”

“You’re still Sirius. You’re still _mine_.” Remus embraced the shorter bruin. “And it-it wouldn’t… you would never… please, may I just have this?”   
“I don’t want it to end either.” Sirius breathed. “But you need to go back up to the castle, and I’m going to try and curl up next to Hagrid’s fire.”   
“Harry and his friends often go tramping through there.”

“Really? Excellent. If I can’t get a go at the rat, I can get more pets.”   
“Sirius, we need Peter alive.”   
“Then you get him.” Sirius replied. “You’re better at sneaking around than I am, really. Though… a certain professor could let a certain dog curl up in front of _his_ fire…”   
“Sirius, I am not letting you into the castle. If this fails, we’d _both_ go to Azkaban, and you can’t put a fire out from inside the house.” Remus said firmly.

Sirius pouted, before stealing another kiss. “You are the only thing that makes me feel alive, though. I almost feel like James is going to come bounding up and everything’s going to be alright. It is, right?”   
“Of course.” Remus ran a hand through Sirius’ matted hair. “I’ll come back soon.”   
“You better, or I’ll march in there myself.” Sirius gave a half-hearted smile.   
“What, like you’re the brave knight rescuing his love from a tower guarded by a dragon?”

“More like a castle guarded by a twat, but yes, that works.”   
“Goodbye, Padfoot.”   
“Goodye, Moony.” Sirius gave a jaunty bow before turning back into a dog.   
Remus smiled softly. “I love you, you know.”

Sirius wagged his tail and barked.

Minerva McGonagall wasn’t quite so happy. Madame Pomfrey had sent over the details to the Muggles, who were due to arrive any moment. However, if Minerva had to sit in this terribly clean household for another minute sipping too sweet tea, she would burst.

“I am here to speak to you about one of the boys in your care, Mrs. Dursley.” She was finally able to put the likely poisoned tea down while Mrs. Dursley went white. “Diddykins? What happened?!”   
“No, the boy in question is the son of your sister, Lily Evans.”   
“You want the _Potter_ boy?!”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I would, thank you.” This was easy.   
“I-I… his kind… he hasn’t been…” Mrs. Dursley leaned forward. On principle, Minerva leaned back. It was best to keep one’s distance from evil.   
“Potter hasn’t been causing trouble for _normal_ people, like us, correct?” Mrs. Dursley simpered.   
“Harry has indeed not been causing trouble.” It was still, lamentably early in the school year for this statement. Somehow or other, Potter always managed to find his way into the heart of whatever was bothering the teachers at the moment. One could only pray this would not apply to Sirius Black as well.

“Then… you aren’t going to send him back?! What would the neighbors think?”   
“We most certainly are not sending Harry Potter back.” McGonagall snapped. “You will have to find some other poor soul to treat this abominable way. We simply want you to relinquish total custody of Harry James Potter.”   
A flick of her wand and the legal document she’d had Dumbledore draw up appeared. Mrs. Dursley’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Apparently the smartly dressed woman with a Scottish accent was one of _them_.

“What… what do you want with him?” Lily _had_ mentioned that there were evil wizards. Perhaps…   
“What do you care?” McGonagall demanded. “If you had _ever_ spared a thought to the boy’s welfare, he would not have been living underneath your staircase for eleven years!”   
“We moved him to the spare bedroom.” Mrs. Dursley pointed out in a manner she assumed was meek. “And he only started living underneath the staircase after he was four and turned the garden shed upside down.”

McGonagall’s eye twitched. “That was accidental magic.”   
“But it was _odd_!” Mrs. Dursley whined. “We couldn’t let the neighbors know there was a _freak_ in…” She trailed off abruptly at McGonagall’s face and the sudden realization that here was an adult witch who would not take well to being labeled a freak.   
“Not to say _you_ are—” Mrs. Dursley began to simper, before McGonagall cut her off with a Silencing Charm.

Mrs. Dursley began to scream silently while McGonagall calmly dumped the horrid tea in the fireplace. Noting Mrs. Dursley’s growing panic, she simply said, “You could have at least done me the courtesy of asking if I even _wanted_ sugar. We’re not Americans, I’ll have you know.”   
She strode purposefully into the Dursleys’ kitchens, of the strong opinion that every Muggle family had a pen in the kitchen, if not several. It’s not as if anyone made grocery lists in their bedrooms, after all.

Several minutes passed with a fruitless search and a silent Muggle woman (who was very dramatically enacting her feelings by throwing herself to the floor several times) trailing after her, and Minerva McGonagall snapped. She finally Summoned the pen (which was tucked in a jar adorned with a hideous caricature of a cartoon bear that likely passed for adorable in the sterile world of Petunia Dursley), as well as the legislature from the other room, before both were shoved at Mrs. Dursley.

Surprised, Mrs. Dursley was only able to fall to one knee instead of the two she had planned.   
“Sign it.” McGonagall ordered. “And I’m about to take the charm off now, so you better not add shrieking to your current activities.”

True to her word, Mrs. Dursley was able to whisper, “But why _Potter_?”   
“A variety of reasons. He’s my student, above all a polite and kind young man. He’s constantly puts himself in danger and needs someone to guide him on his path to adulthood. He has no one else. He trusts me. But most of all, because no child deserves whatever you decided to put him through. I am not interested in your validation for the incidents. They don’t excuse anything, and I believe I know them anyway. Whatever your problems were with your sister, this was your chance to make things right instead of harming an innocent child with whatever small modicum of power you had amassed. Had you balanced your treatment of Potter and…” McGonagall trailed off, staring at the pictures littered around the house.

A hush fell over the two women. “Is that…” McGonagall finally spoke, squinting at the picture nearest to her. “Is that a bald gorilla dyed blond?”   
“That’s my Diddykins!” Mrs. Dursley cried, outraged.   
“That does not answer my question. And what sort of name is ‘Diddykins’ for an animal? It’s not even a name fit for a person.”

Mrs. Dursley turned puce, while McGonagall cleared her throat. “In any case, if you had balanced your affection between Potter, your son, and your pet, then you’d have two fine boys and a normal looking gorilla. You could have been so much more, Petunia Dursley. And yet you decided that your life began and ended in the ugliest kitchen I have ever seen, and ended the argument regarding a better person immediately.”   
“I didn’t give him up!”   
“I wish you had!” McGonagall snarled. “I wish you had ripped up Albus’ letter –don’t lie to me, Petunia Dursley. I saw him leave it—and sent Harry Potter off to an orphanage. At least there he might have received love and support.”

“I took him in! I gave him a roof over his head, clothes, food, everything!”   
“A roof under the _stairs_! Clothes your pet had outgrown! Food he cooked! You get no points for not letting the boy starve! And you _know_ if the situation was reversed, Lily would have taken wonderful care of your son. Speaking of which, where is he? Is he under the stairs as well?”

“I would never shove Diddykins under the stairs like a _freak_!” Mrs. Dursley howled.   
McGonagall blinked, one of the rare moments where she was caught off-guard. “ _That_ was your son?”   
“Get _out_!”   
“Not until you sign Harry Potter into my custody.”

Mrs. Dursley let out a shriek that would have made a banshee flee. Minerva McGonagall did not bat an eye. “Are you quite done with all the screaming?”   
“You can’t have him! You’ll never take him!” Mrs. Dursley screeched, heading towards full on hysteria.   
“If you ever loved your sister, I suggest you sign him over. Ghosts have a nasty way of haunting relatives, you know.”

That calmed Mrs. Dursley down enough for the two women to eye each other apprehensively. McGonagall was regretting not bringing earplugs, and was not looking forward to the next round of wailing. Was it considered rude to transfigure pictures of one’s child/pet gorilla (McGonagall still found this highly suspect) into earplugs? Probably.

“You’ll take care of him?”   
“Far better than you did.”   
Mrs. Dursley’s face began to crumple, and McGonagall winced, expecting the howls to begin again soon. Perhaps she wouldn’t miss her spoons.

“I never meant to hurt Lily’s son. It was… it was nicer, when he as a baby. I thought he might not have it yet. If-if he hadn’t, I could have loved him.” Mrs. Dursley bawled.   
“You should have loved him regardless.”   
“He represented everything I wasn’t, everything I had lost. How could I?”   
“If you weren’t one of the most callous, evil people I’ve ever met, including several genocidal maniacs, I _might_ feel sorry for you.”

Sniffling, Mrs. Dursley signed the papers as the police sirens began to wail into hearing range. McGonagall took the papers and Apparated away, mentally crossing herself and thanking God that she –and Harry, for that matter— could leave that demons’ lair and never have to return. The last thing she heard before leaving was Petunia Dursley’s squawk of indignation that the police would _dare_ enter her household. McGonagall certainly felt sorry for the authorities.


	7. The Particularly Nasty Day of Peter Pettigrew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny takes it upon herself to chase a wanted criminal about.

Peter Pettigrew was not having a nice time. The Granger girl’s cat had interrupted what he had intended to be blissful naptime, free of any Weasleys. Finally, none of them were grabbing him or pulling him or whining or anything. Merlin knows he’d scamper away at the first sign of any of them breeding. He wasn’t going through this again.

So here he was, wandering the cold corridors of Hogwarts, friendless and destitute. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate, seeing as he was a rat and rats have no concept of friends, let alone money, but the principle stood. His whiskers twitched as two students appeared from another corridor, walking side by side. _No! A Weasley_! He tried to flee, but Ginny quickly spotted him. “Scabbers! Naughty rat, how did you get out?”

 _I know this castle better than you could ever hope to, girl. I know every nook and cranny that even your troublesome brothers cannot find._ Wait, he heard this one had a basilisk. Being a snake, it might want to eat him. He did not know _why_ she had acquired a basilisk, or _how_ , but he had seen her with it by the Forbidden Forest. He’d also seen Sirius hanging about. He’d probably have to leave sooner than he thought, come to think of it.

The girl next to her smiled, lovestruck. “He’s cute.”   
_I am not cute_! Wait a minute. Wasn’t that Lucius Malfoy’s future daughter-in-law? What on Earth was she doing cooing over a Weasley rat? Wait. No. Don’t tell him she was--   
“Ginny…” Astoria twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “How are you so brave?”   
“Well, I am a Gryffindor.”   
“But… it’s more than that. You go hang about a basilisk _every day_.” Astoria giggled, in awe.

Ginny flashed her an oblivious grin. “He’d get lonely without me.”   
Had the girl really switched her entire place in her dynamic? Years ago, this would have been her with the Potter boy. (Peter didn’t like him. He talked in his sleep and his owl looked perpetually hungry.) Now here she was, the Greengrass girl a hormonal mess in front of her and Draco Malfoy likely lurking about. Hopefully the boy had some of the Black family charm and wouldn’t be a complete mess like Lucius in front of Narcissa.

Though that _had_ been hiliarious to watch, Peter had to admit.   
“Hello, girls.” A new voice greeted them. Ah, Remus. Sweet, kind Remus. If he ever returned to society, he’d spin a tale to Remus first.   
“Hello Professor.” They chorused.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Miss Weasley?”   
“My brother’s rat.”  
“A rat? Ah… the ‘not-officially-on-the-list-of-approved-pets’ rat Harry mentioned?” Really now. Who was going to tell a Weasley child they couldn’t have a familiar if they didn’t fill Eeylop’s pockets? Not anyone at Hogwarts. They all had such soft hearts. All the better to twist a knife, if you asked Peter. No one ever did.

“May I see the famous rat?” Remus continued. That was vaguely suspicious, but if Peter panicked it would be worse.   
Ginny handed him over, and Remus looked Peter over. “How’d he lose the toe? I doubt Errol is strong enough for a fight.”   
Peter would have snorted if he could. If he and Errol ever fought, it would probably kill the poor thing.   
“I don’t know, I always assumed the twins did something to him.” Ginny shrugged. “Poor little bugger.”

Remus nodded. “That would be tragic. See that he gets back to your brother safely, alright?”   
“Of course.” Ginny nodded. “Ron’s the least likely out of the four of us here to kill the little guy, isn’t that right, Scabbers?”   
_What a truly awful name, girl. Did I mention I hate Percy the most? Stupid Percy._  
“Outstanding praise for your brother, Miss Weasley.” Remus hid a grin.

“I think Ginny would be the best.” Astoria breathed.   
_Merlin’s spotted boxers, this is unbearable._   
“Perhaps, but I doubt Miss Weasley’s basilisk would like the competition very much. Especially if it was not allowed to _eat_ said competition.”   
“He doesn’t eat rats anymore.” Ginny said firmly. “They’re too small for him. He eats deer and wandering sheep and things like that. Harry told me.”

“Really? That’s good. You don’t know where rats have been. But… he hasn’t been eating any… dogs?”   
“No. Harry didn’t mention any.”   
“Hopefully the basilisk wasn’t tightlipped, then.” Remus gave a rare smile. “I noticed Hagrid seemed to have a new dog, and I wouldn’t want it to be eaten.”   
Peter knew that smile. Peter knew that Remus knew that Sirius Black was back. As a matter of fact, Peter should try to leave soon. Perhaps blame it on the Granger girl’s cat. It _was_ a particularly awful animal, after all. Almost as awful as these infernal Weasleys.

“Well, I’ll be bidding you two goodbye, then. Don’t get up to any mischief.” This was directed towards Astoria with a wink that the shy Remus could have only learned from Sirius. Oh, he definitely knew the Animagus was back. Peter _hated_ not knowing their plans. It was worse when he was actually meant to be in on it in school, and would wake up with leaves for hair and Dumbledore’s robes before being pushed out the door with a vague idea of what he was meant to do. (It was often a distraction for the real prank.)

Miffed, Peter allowed the Weasley to carry him back to the Gryffindor common room (thanks to the relief of her brother) while he stewed in his anger. There would be time to deal with her later.

A few days later, Ginny was strolling down to the forest’s edge, still a bit awkward with the raven-haired boy next to her, who was going on about proper verb tense for snakes. He was cute, but she was twelve and the novelty of parseltongue had worn off. She allowed her mind to wander long enough to notice professor Lupin heading into the Forbidden Forest, and her curiosity spiked. She took off after him, Harry following her. “Ginny, where are you going?”   
“Shhhh!” She hissed. “Lupin’s in the Forbidden Forest!”

The two children followed Lupin, who was following a large and shaggy black dog they’d seen in Hagrid’s hut. The dog finally stopped, before turning into Sirius Black.   
Ginny’s eyes widened, before she leapt out from behind the tree she and Harry were hiding behind, wand raised. “You! Harry, call the basilisk!”

Had she time to think, she would have realized that she had ordered about the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Whose Name was Written on Her Ankle. This was not how they interacted. But here was a man her father had told her brothers was trying to murder Harry, and a professor, _a trusted_ professor was helping him.

“Miss Weasley—” Lupin began.   
Ginny swung her wand at him. “Not one word. You were helping _him_. He would have gotten into the castle and killed Harry, and you wanted him to! How _dare_ you!”   
“…One of Molly’s, then?” Sirius Black asked calmly.   
“Obviously.” Lupin sighed.

The sound of leaves being displaced but not crunched heralded the arrival of the basilisk, eyes closed and tongue flicking in the air to find them.   
“What’s so bad about Sirius Black? Why would he kill me?” Harry asked.   
“He is responsible for your parents’ death.” Ginny hissed.

Harry’s eyes widened, and the basilisk raised up behind him.   
“Sirius!” Lupin hissed, shaking his soulmate.   
“I _never_ killed Lily and James! It was that fat idiot, Peter! If I _had_ , I would have gone after Remus next because Peter was less than a threat to me!” Sirius Black growled.   
“Liar!” Ginny screamed. Lupin winced at how shrill a pre-teen girl could go. “Lupin’s in on it with you! You never would have hurt him! Everyone knows you told the Dark Lord where Lily and James Potter were! Now you’ve come back to finish the job!”

“Then why _now_?” Sirius Black demanded. “And James Potter was my best friend, my blood brother! I wasn’t the Secret Keeper, stupid girl!”   
Ginny fired off a Silencing Charm at him, while the basilisk rose up. “I’ve heard enough.” Harry’s voice was low. “Ginny, we’re taking them both back up to the castle, or Sir Hiss can eat them.”

“…his name is Sir Hiss?”   
“Yeah, like the Disney movie?”   
“I liked that movie.” Lupin pointed out.   
“No one asked you.” Harry snapped. “You betrayed me, I thought you were my friend! My parents’ friend! If my father could see you now, what would he say?”   
Sirius Black had managed to remove the Silencing Charm. “I bet he’d say, ‘shut up Harry and let Padfoot talk’.”

Lupin sighed. “He probably would, which wouldn’t earn him any favors with Harry and Miss Weasley—”   
“You will call me Mr. Potter.” Harry interrupted coldly. “You’ve lost the right to refer to me on a first name basis.”   
“…so he’s inherited Lily’s personality then.” Sirius Black noted.   
Harry’s eyes narrowed, and with a small noise, Sir Hiss was charging the two men. “Behave yourselves, or this time tomorrow you’ll both be digesting. It would be easy, you know.”

“That’s not Lily.” Lupin pointed out. “And Sirius didn’t kill Lily and James, Har… Mr. Potter.”   
“Then what was he doing in Azkaban?” Harry demanded. Ginny scowled at the two men for good measure.   
“I never got a trial!” Sirius Black huffed. “Crouch just sent everyone there after his stupid son went to trial.”   
“Malfoy managed to get free.” Lupin said quietly.

Sirius Black spun to face him. “How?! And don’t say it was money, because I’m at _least_ as rich as him!”   
“But do you have the combined wealth of the Black _and_ Malfoy vaults at your disposal? Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion your second favorite cousin was behind his release, and she could only save one.”   
“Probably gave some nonsense about Malfoy Junior needing a dad.” Sirius Black snorted.   
“I don’t _care_ about Malfoy’s family. I care about mine.” Harry growled.

“You killed his only real family, and that sent him off to live with the Muggles!” Ginny snarled, before charging the two men.   
Lupin paled a bit, and Harry whistled before climbing on Sir Hiss’s back. Lupin and Sirius Black ran, and Sir Hiss began to pursue, stopping a bit so Ginny could swing up behind Harry.   
“I _knew_ we would get chased about eventually!” Sirius Black sighed.

“But did you know it would be Prongs’ son on the back of a basilisk with a miniature and extremely furious Molly Weasley?” Lupin asked.   
“Of course not.”   
“This is why the Blacks aren’t renowned for being Seers.”   
“Being renowned for being rich and powerful isn’t so bad!”

“No, you’re just known as _short_! Which right now isn’t helping!” Lupin grabbed the wrist of Sirius Black before doubling back towards the Whomping Willow. They were on school grounds now, and happened to run past a group of third years going to Care of Magical Creatures, and a group of fifth years on their way to Herbology. Most just watched in stunned silence. Some shrugged it off. Ron Weasley let out an unearthly and extremely angry shriek at the sight of his baby sister riding a basilisk after Sirius Black and a teacher. He took off running after them, Hermione and Scabbers in tow. Fred and George Weasley thought this all great fun, and watching Ron sprint after a basilisk that little Ginny was riding was amusing. What if they missed something great?

Thus, the entire Weasley population of Hogwarts raced off after a wanted criminal and a beloved teacher, along with a basilisk, an irate Animagus, the Boy Who Lived, and the Girl Who Would Murder the Boy Who Lived for Skipping Class. With the exception of Sir Hiss, who had never had neither the time nor inclination to be Sorted, all those involved were Gryffindors.


	8. In Which Arthur Weasley is involved

“Dammit, this was much easier before Peter decided to be a prat.” Sirius wailed, before turning into a dog and wriggling into the tunnel, hitting the knot on his way in.   
“ _Can you fit?_ ” Harry asked Sir Hiss.   
“ _Obviously, but not with you and the Girl_.”   
“ _We’ll go on ahead, then. The Girl’s brothers are coming too_.” _  
“So… do NOT kill the littermates?_ ”   
“ _Correct_.”

Sir Hiss let out a sad sigh –apparently red-haired children made for a good meal— and Ginny and Harry scampered into the tunnel.   
“You don’t think they followed us, do you, Sirius?”   
“Nah, they’d have to leave behind their precious snake, right? It’s just you and me now, Moony.” Sirius smirked.   
“I hope you weren’t planning to shag.” Harry commented. “It would be embarrassing for all of us and at least one of the Weasleys would have to get rid of the offending bits to protect his sister’s innocence.”   
“I was possessed by a Dark artifact for an entire year and no one noticed.” Ginny huffed. “I doubt I have that much innocence left and that they care that much about preserving it.”

Sir Hiss erupted behind them a few seconds later, followed by Ron and Hermione, with the twins bringing up the rear.   
“Ginny!” Ron hissed. “What are you _doing_?!”   
“Sirius Black is here to kill Harry!” She growled. “And I’m going to stop him!”

“Harry, why were you skipping class?” Hermione demanded.   
“We had to see Sir Hiss.” Harry shrugged. “He’d get moody otherwise. It was better to skip class once than let a basilisk rampage through the grounds. Ginny can’t talk to him like I can.”   
“Wicked.” The twins grinned.

Sirius’ sharp eyes noticed the rat. “And then there’s the traitor.”   
Lupin noticed him too. “Don’t scare the children, they’ll retaliate and the Weasleys are all quite protective of each other.”   
“What about Harry and the girl?”   
“Honorary Weasleys.” Ron spat. “And if you hurt them –or my sister!— I will hurt you.”   
“Ah.” Sirius noted, before Lupin Accio’d the rat.

“And then it turned out Sirius Black was just hungry.” Fred announced.   
“Ginny then had to share her basilisk with Ron.” George agreed.   
Sirius cracked a grin as Lupin Stunned the rat and turned him back into Pettigrew. “Hey, Moony, I think I found Wormtail and Prongs’ replacements!”

“ _You’re_ Moony? And Padfoot?” The twins gasped. Their allegiance was quickly shifting. “We have your map!”   
“Excellent, it’s in good hands, Moony!” Sirius grinned, before gesturing to Pettigrew. “Now, with this bilious, terrible rat—”   
“That doesn’t change what happened with Lily and James Potter.” Ginny’s wand was pointing straight at Sirius, and clearly she was the instigator as everyone else turned towards him.

“Why the hell would I murder my best mate?!”   
“I don’t know. Why would you?” Ginny demanded.   
“Do we have to fight Moony and Padfoot now?” George sighed to Fred.   
“I’m afraid so. Ginny is scarier than Sirius Black, after all.”

“You mean _Mum_ is scarier.”   
“Same thing, isn’t it?”

“Hello? Giant rat man here?” Sirius demanded. “ _Clearly_ I am much more innocent than it seems!”   
“Procuring a rodent of unusual size doesn’t mean you didn’t help Harry’s parents be murdered, which is as good as sentencing him to the Muggles! You won’t be arrested for _this_ , but _we’re_ Harry’s family now.” Hermione spat.   
“ _Speaker, may I eat the rat? It is a large rat._ ”   
“ _Soon, after we show him off to the rest of the world._ ” Harry replied.

“I’ve heard enough.” Ginny growled, leaping towards Sirius who jumped towards Remus who Apparated into the Ministry of Magic. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the four of them. Ron had leapt for Ginny, Hermione had leapt for him, Harry had leapt for Hermione, and neither of the twins wanted to be left out, so they also decided to bring the basilisk. That is how their entire merry band made its cramped way into the Ministry entrance, scaring the Aurors witless. Said Aurors then arrested Pettigrew and summoned Arthur Weasley from his office to deal with the band of Weasleys.

Said Weasleys had all begun heaping attacks on Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, along with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. (The basilisk had been returned to the Forest.) The twins were firing curses from the top of the Fountain, Ginny Weasley had been incapacitated by being hung by her ankle from the ceiling (Sirius Black had stolen her wand), Hermione Granger was trying to free her, and Ron and Harry were continuously popping in and out of different Floo fireplaces to confuse and distract Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Most Ministry workers had stopped to watch.   
“For the last time! _Peter_ betrayed your family!” Sirius howled.   
“And why the hell should we believe you?!” Ginny demanded.   
“Because James was my best friend! Because I clearly didn’t murder Peter, and we need a motive for me trying to do so! Because I’m Harry’s godfather! Moony, help!”   
“We’ve gotten into a shootout at the Ministry with two basilisk riders, a protective bookworm, and three angry Weasleys! I think at this point we’re a little past them all trusting _me_ , let alone _you_!”

“Sirius and James _were_ best friends.” Arthur interrupted. “Anyone could see it.”   
Immediately he was embraced by the escaped convict. “Arthur! Thank Merlin!”   
Arthur wasn’t completely sure whether it was genuine relief or whether he was being used as a body-shield/hostage. Given how the former Gryffindors were positioned, Arthur bet it was a combination of the two.

“But Mr. Weasley.” Harry’s face fell. “Wasn’t that rat guy also their friend? He could be a liar, anyway. Seeing as he might have been part of my parents’ death, and all.”   
“And then Harry was sent to the Muggles!” Hermione proclaimed fiercely.   
“I wasn’t the bloody Secret Keeper!” Sirius exploded. “They changed to Peter at the last moment because everyone expected it to be me! Submit me to Veritaserum, if you want! It was all _Peter_!”

“We stormed in with a basilisk, the Boy Who Lived, an extraordinarily skilled bookworm, and a multitude of protective Weasleys, most of which were trying to attack us to defend Harry Potter. I doubt a lack of Veritaserum is the least of our worries.” Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.   
Sirius grinned. “We’ll be famous!”   
“Infamous.” This was not a new conversation.

“Ah, well, already got that, haven’t we?”   
“What is Veritaserum?” Harry demanded.   
“It makes whoever takes it tell the truth.” Hermione answered. “Mr. Weasley, couldn’t his mind be fractured to the point that he truly believes Pettigrew betrayed the Potters?”   
“Well, yes.” Arthur conceded. “But based on his behavior, it seems Azkaban didn’t rattle him to the point of resembling his cousin. Believe me, Miss Granger, if he was unhinged enough for it to work that way, it would be very noticeable.”

Hermione pursed her lips, before pulling Harry along and undoing Ginny. With a groan, the youngest Weasley rose from her newest spot on the floor, begrudgingly looking Harry over. “If you knew even half of what Harry’s been through, you wouldn’t hate us for protecting him.” Then she looked at Lupin. “We weren’t targeting you.”   
Hermione’s eye twitched rather like Professor McGonagall’s tended to in moments such as these. “I… I… I attacked a teacher.”

Ron slipped an arm around her shoulder, before putting his other one around Harry’s. “Hey, we’re all alright now.”   
“We didn’t even make a huge mess!” George piped up from his precarious position.   
“At least when the basilisk left, people could walk around us all.” Fred added, next to his brother as always.   
Arthur Weasley felt a headache coming on similar to the one he’d had following the theft of his Ford Anglia. "Get down from there before I tell Mum.”

 “Why not just threaten them with the smaller Molly?”   
“Because Ginny still doesn’t like you.” Arthur answered coolly. “And given the fact that she was able to lead three of her brothers, a basilisk, and two Honorary Weasleys into the Ministry of Magic to take down what she thought was a supposed murderer and Death Eater with absolutely no one stopping to question it means that she’s more likely to lead them back into battle.”

Ginny gave Sirius a smirk, which quickly vanished when Arthur saw her.   
“It’s not as if I ever wanted to _hurt_ Harry.” Sirius huffed. “That’s exactly what I _didn’t_ want!”   
Arthur patted his back, before Remus gathered the students and pushed them through the Floo.   
McGonagall was not impressed with the activities of her current students, especially Harry.

“I expected better out of all of you than to pursue a potentially dangerous criminal!” She seethed.   
“They would have gotten away if they _were_ up to no good!” Harry protested.   
“And you decided to go charging after them all?!”   
“They did have a basilisk, and they _did_ outnumber us.” Remus pointed out. “I think it’s more about how I panicked and brought us all to the Ministry.”

The teenagers all twisted around to stare at him. Why was he taking the fall for them?   
“It’s _my_ fault.” Harry said, more to Lupin than McGonagall. “I got so caught up in my parents’ deaths, I… just leapt at him, I guess? The others followed suit.”   
“He didn’t!” Ginny growled. “I was the one who followed the Professor and drew my wand first!”

Harry glared at her. “It’s _my_ fault!”   
“It most certainly is _not_!”   
McGonagall rubbed her temples. “You’re _both_ at fault! Twenty points from Gryffindor for both of your behavior, and you’ll be serving detentions with me for the next two weeks on Saturday. Normally, I would send you to Professor Snape, but at the moment I am afraid he’d be too lenient with you since he would be overjoyed that someone else attacked Sirius Black and Remus Lupin!”

“Well… Peter Pettigrew was apparently also in the line of fire, so that’s really three out of four?” Ron guessed. “And Harry was there. It must have been like Christmas, but actually happy, for Snape.”   
“Snape doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘happy’.” Fred pointed out.   
“He does, however, know ‘antidisestablishmentarianism’.” George added.

“Probably pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis too.” Fred agreed.   
“Perhaps he also knows eunoia too.”   
“Nah, doubt that. Too close to happy, isn’t it?”   
“Always the last word with you.”

“Weasleys, _shh_.” McGonagall commanded. “Professor Snape’s vocabulary is not the point of contention, no matter what you two believe. I have half a mind to give you detention _with_ said Professor.”   
“Brilliant idea!” Fred announced.   
“We will finally be happy to ask him if he knows ‘eunoia’.” George grinned.

“Out.” McGonagall ordered.   
So they left.

Sirius was quickly cleared, and the news made the _Daily Prophet_. Following breakfast (Narcissa despised having the paper read when people were meant to be speaking to one another), Narcissa’s lips pursed.   
“What’s wrong?” Lucius asked. He could be sweet when he liked.   
“Sirius is back.”   
“Oh, him.”

“He’s seized half the Black vault.”   
Lucius shrugged. “It’s his, anyway. Not as if we need it.”   
“We’ll have to have him over. It’d look bad if we didn’t. The Blacks always presented a united front.”   
Lucius raised an eyebrow. “You hate him, and he desecrated everything your family stood for. I’m sure people would understand.”   
“Oh, they would have understood had he just played the maligned idiot.” Narcissa spat with disgust. “He’s gone and made himself _popular_.”

Lucius was silent for a moment, before leaning over and kissing her hand, drawing her fingertips to his mouth. “At least the poor bastard’s stuck with Grimmauld Place. Besides, we can only look good next to him, right, Cissy?”   
“Hmph.” She didn’t pull away though. “Sirius is the worst kind of houseguest. He’s crass, rude, and downright annoying. If he didn’t balance it by being a charming sod, I’d wonder if he had any Black blood in him.”   
“Well, no one really has _black_ blood…” Lucius mused. “We’ve all got _red_ , haven’t we?”

“Just because Draco isn’t here to tell bad jokes like that doesn’t mean you can tell me them, thinking I’d react better to one of you than two.” She smiled though.   
“Don’t worry about Black, darling. We’ll look stunning next to him.”   
She pouted. “It’s almost worth letting him into the house… fine, you’ve convinced me.”

Contrary to popular belief, in private, Lucius was the voice of reason in their relationship, and Narcissa was the schemer. Lucius’ schemes tended to go awry, such as giving Ginny Weasley the diary in her first year. Narcissa blew up at him in a way that would have made Molly Weasley jealous for failing to inform her.

“Really?”   
“Really, but if he pisses on the carpet, he’ll be thrown out on his arse.”   
“Narcissa, are you just working in cusswords to display how crass he is?” Lucius asked, amused.   
“I’m just thinking we should familiarize ourselves with his vernacular. We want to get our point across, after all.” She giggled.   
“What if he brings his soulmate? There aren’t any Blacks left.”

Narcissa considered this. “I believe he was always close to that Lupin boy in school… could be him.”   
“Could be worse.” Lucius snorted. “Lupin is at least smarter than a Crabbe or Goyle.”   
“Oh, shush, you. You’re just glad he won’t track mud everywhere.”   
“What does it matter if your cousin shags a werewolf? They’re both male, so automatically everything passes to the closest blood relative—Draco.”   
Narcissa frowned. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps I shall need to talk to… _her_.”

Lucius gasped. “Cissy, no.”   
“I must.”   
“Forget Sirius Black, she’d stain our family name forever!”   
“Not much else she can do.” Narcissa sighed. “At least when she ran off, she didn’t do it with a _complete_ Muggle.”   
“There’s not much distinction.” Lucius noted.

“Lucius.”   
“Narcissa.”   
She pouted up at him. “Should I take Draco? It might look more sympathetic.”   
“Draco isn’t… you were trying to trick me into saying that, weren’t you?”   
Narcissa beamed at him. “Oh, of course. As if I would take Draco to a Muggle den. But if the Dark Lord should ever return, I refuse to let our son be used in his machinations.”

“Narcissa, He is our Lord. We cannot forsake him, and we cannot hide Draco.”   
“He is a bastard and a fiend, and I doubt he cares one whit for this flock you’ve created. If he returns and demands Draco, I’ll stage his death and send him to Andromeda. Do you understand how much I hate the Dark Lord, Lucius? I’m exposing my baby to a traitor and a Muggle-born rather than let that pasty shit take him and place that hideous mark on him.” Narcissa’s voice was deathly calm.

“Your sister loves him.”   
“Bellatrix loves other people’s pain, since it distracts her from her own.” Narcissa sighed. “I, however, see her precious Dark Lord as something to be reviled. It wouldn’t surprise me if there was Muggle in his blood. If you knew the things he did to _us_ , to _me_ —” She cut herself off, shaking her head.   
“Narcissa, what did he do?”   
“Lucius, your Gryffindor tendencies never truly passed.” Narcissa warned. “I won’t have you charge into a fight with Him over something that happened years ago. Bella eventually stepped in before he hurt our pride too much. I’m fine.”

Lucius stared at his wife, who was shaking a bit. “What did he do, Narcissa?”   
She waved her hand dismissively. “He’s gone.”   
“ _Narcissa_.”   
“Lucius.” She had tried to insert her teasing into it, but it came out as pleading. “Leave it. I want to forget.”

He pulled her into a long hug. He knew that feeling better than anyone. He held her as the shaking turned to silent sobs on what should have been a normal day.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco Malfoy drummed his fingers on the Slytherin coffee table impatiently.   
“What’s wrong?” Theodore Nott asked from behind what appeared to be _The Fellowship of the Ring_.   
“How do you know something’s wrong?” Draco asked.   
“When you’re upset, you drum ‘Hippogriff March 1783’ by Chandler on the table.” Theodore replied.

“I do not!”   
“Yeah, you do. Been humming it all day ‘cause of you.” Gregory Goyle added.   
Draco glared at him, while Vincent Crabbe piped up, “He’s still upset over Astoria Greengrass having a crush on the Weasley girl and not him. He’s used to getting everything he wants when he wants. The fact that a girl is refusing him is maddening.”   
Daphne Greengrass threw a pillow at Draco. “She’s _eleven_!”

Draco dodged it quickly, while Theodore finally lowered his book. “Stop throwing things in the common room. Besides, I would think you’d find it intoxicating, Draco. Now comes the thrill of the hunt, the cha—”  
Daphne threw a pillow at him too. “My sister is not a wild animal, Nott!”

Blaise Zabini strode in. “ _I_ think Draco should make her jealous. Show her how she’s treated him, hmm?”   
“How were you even listening?” Goyle asked.   
“Thought you were upstairs.” Crabbe agreed.   
“I hovered in the stairwell for forty-five minutes wondering when to make my entrance.” Blaise replied smoothly. “I nearly missed it too.”

“Zabini, that is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” Draco snickered.   
Blaise raised an immaculate eyebrow. “Oh? What about first year, with _your_ entrance?”   
“‘Did somebody say Draco Malfoy?’” Blaise, Theodore, some of the girls who had been chatting in the corner, several of the seventh years and Daphne all said at once, before grinning.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow, before turning to Crabbe and Goyle. “Vincent, Greg, we’re leaving. Pick me up, please?”   
Crabbe hefted him up onto his back, much like a sack of potatoes, and Draco faced the other Slytherins in their year. “I shall not come back until my feathers have been un-ruffled—Vincent! I’m slipping!”   
“Sorry.” Crabbe shrugged, bumping Draco’s head against the doorjamb.

The Slytherins snickered. Draco ignored them. “Onward!”   
“Where are you going?” Blaise asked.   
“I’m glad you asked. To find Potter, and follow your advice!” Draco declared, before hurriedly adding, “Can you _please_ just put your hand on my arse!”

As Draco disappeared, Theo shut his book softly on his thumb, turning to face his friends. “I believe that I have won ten galleons.”   
One of the seventh years scoffed. “They’re not actually dating, Nott.”   
Theodore smirked. “Well, I agree, that remains to be seen. But notice how Draco’s thoughts turned immediately to Potter. He’s obsessed, isn’t he? And we all knew he was the hard one.”

One of the girls nearly spat out her drink. “Nott! The first years will be back from whatever it is they’re doing, don’t be lewd!”   
Blaise began laughing uncontrollably, going so far as to fall on the floor.   
Theodore prodded him with his foot. “Are you quite done?”

“Yeah.” Blaise sighed happily. “I’ve died happy.”   
“I should hope not. Then it’ll just be me caught between Pansy and her friends, and Malfoy and his.”   
“Aren’t you going to marry Pansy?”   
“Sure. Doesn’t mean I want to spend time awkwardly hanging about her and her friends as they try to have fun. They shouldn’t have to entertain me.”

“And Malfoy?”   
“I’m hoping he’ll mellow out with age.” Theodore slid a green satin ribbon into his book. “In the meantime, watching him try to stride through puberty is almost as amusing as watching you. Come on, I want to see what he’s going to do with Potter.”   
Blaise scowled, but scrabbled after him.

They found Harry, and therefore Draco, in the library. Harry was joined by Astoria and Ginny today, besides his usual Hermione and Ron, and looked a bit befuddled as to what was going on.

Crabbe put Draco down gently, and Draco turned to face Harry rather majestically.   
“Did Draco just twirl?” Blaise asked.   
“He’s actually quite graceful.” Theodore noted, before the two Slytherins joined their friends.

“Now, Potter. I have a proposition for you.”   
Theodore and Blaise exchanged a look.   
Harry raised an eyebrow. “A proposition? I’m not going to be your house-elf, Malfoy.”   
Draco waved him off. “No, no, no. I mean that… well…” Draco paused, looking for the right words. “You’ve set my heart aflame, Potter!” He finally decided. “Please join me on a date this weekend!”

Harry blinked rapidly for several seconds. Blaise gave a sharp intake of breath. “Draco, we should—”   
“We do not retreat!” Draco replied firmly. “We will extract an answer!”   
Harry slowly turned to look at Hermione. “Did I hear him right?”   
“If you heard him ask you out, then yes.” She nodded, before glancing at Astoria. Said pre-teen apparently didn’t care.

Harry slowly turned to look at Ron, who shrugged.   
Harry turned back to Draco. “I was planning to spend the weekend with Hermione and Ron… besides, I don’t have my Hogsmeade permission form.”   
“What? Why not?” Draco asked. “Was it rescinded? Can they _do_ that?”

“My aunt and uncle never signed.” Harry replied softly.   
All at once, Draco’s demeanor changed. “We shall get you that permission form, Potter. And forget the date, I can be romantic in other ways. Clearly, what we need now is a Slytherin plot to give you the same rights as any other deserving wizard!”

Hermione looked him right in the eye, and Draco shrugged. “What do you want from me, Granger? I’m not trying to woo _you_.”   
“You might get a bit farther by not being a prat to those you consider beneath you.” Hermione narrowed her eyes. “No one wants to snog an asshole, Malfoy. Most of us don’t like the taste of shit.”

Everyone stared at her, and Theodore spat, tossing his hands up in the air. “Perfect. Hermione Granger swore before Draco snogged Potter. I assume next we’ll have pigs flying by the castle, just to drive the nail into my coffin further. Gringotts has fallen—”   
Blaise scowled. “ _I’m_ the dramatic one. I’m willing to share the title with Draco, but not the friend who gets obsessed far too easily. Just lie to Pucey—”

“It’s the principle of the thing! And I need proof! It’s not as though Draco has _Potter’s_ name tattooed on his wrist!” Theodore ranted.   
“Is he always like this?” Ron asked.   
The other Slytherins nodded.    
“And I thought _Malfoy_ was mental.”

Draco glared at him. “I have nothing to do with _this_. Theodore gets a bit odd at times. Now, as for Potter’s plan for Hogsmeade—”   
“You can’t just slide into our group of friends after years of being an ass, Malfoy!” Hermione interrupted. “Without so much as an apology, either!”

Meanwhile, Theodore had finished ranting and had stilled. Instinctively, Draco and Blaise turned to look at him. Astoria nudged Ginny. “Watch this.”   
“Ms. Granger, do you happen to have a Muggle sharkpen?” Theodore asked as cordially as possible when his glasses had come off of one ear, and he was gripping his wand.

“A _what_?” Hermione asked.   
“A sharkpen, apparently. You should have told me you had one, Hermione. Hagrid would have liked it.” Harry commented.   
Hermione and Theodore glared at him. “No, no, no, Potter. The black quill without refillable ink thing…? A shapen?”

“A _sharpie_?” Hermione asked.   
“You know what it is. Cease making me flounder, or I shall just burn it into Draco’s skin myself.” The standing Slytherins took a big step back, Draco’s expression wary.   
“Wouldn’t hurt you to say please.” Ginny pointed out.

“It might lead to circumstances that hurt the rest of us, though.” Astoria noted. Draco retreated behind Harry, glaring at Theodore.   
“Please.”   
Hermione pulled a sharpie out of her bookbag. Theodore uncapped it, and slowly advanced on Draco. “This will only take a moment…”

“That says ‘permanent’ on it!” Draco protested. “Potter, you’re a defender of the poor and downtrod! Help!”   
“Sure. Do you see any?” Harry asked.   
“Theodore, it is ten galleons versus you trying to mess up the rest of Draco’s existence. Leave it alone.” Blaise pointed out.

“It’s a matter of _honor_.” Theodore hissed.   
“That’s ridiculous; how could both you _and_ Pucey win? This isn’t about honor, this is about you being a sore loser.” Draco snorted. “Speaking of which, how much did you bet them?”

“Them? I thought Pucey was a girl.” Harry noted.   
“Pucey doesn’t use those words.” Astoria shrugged. “Don’t they have that in the Muggle world?”   
“In the Muggle world, people of the same sex can’t even love each other safely.” Hermione answered.   
Astoria blinked. “Isn’t that barbaric?”

“You’re a society of traditional bigots, using at times what appears to be the Norse religion.” Hermione pointed out. “How can you be only prejudiced against people like _me_?”   
“Well, if you meet a merrow and call it a ‘she’, it’ll kill you.” Ginny pointed out. “You learn respect at an early age. As for people of the same gender loving each other, you can’t really hide your name, and various kings and whatnot didn’t favor being burnt or whatever the Muggles do.”

Theodore, in the meantime, had been advancing slowly towards Draco. Draco backed up slowly, before breaking into a run. Theodore followed.   
“Aren’t you two going after them?” Blaise demanded.   
“Greg and I hardly ever get our own time when Draco’s strutting about.” Crabbe shrugged.   
“We should come to the library more often.” Goyle agreed.

“You can _talk_?” Ron asked, surprised.   
The Slytherins all gave him a withering look.   
“What’s that phrase?” Blaise asked coolly. “’It’s better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt’, I think?”

“Crabbe and Goyle ate two cupcakes last year that floated down in front of them.” Harry pointed out. “Why _wouldn’t_ we think that was suspect?”   
“The way we saw it, there was free food. No one could really target us, the heir of Slytherin wouldn’t go after two of the pureblood Slytherins, and besides, what kind of heir strikes through baking? In any case, worst case scenario it was the Weasleys and then they’d get in trouble.” Crabbe pointed out.

“You know an awful lot about that incident for Gryffindors, though.” Goyle stared straight at Harry.   
“We tried to find out if Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin by using Polyjuice.” Ron admitted.   
“How the bloody hell did you get Polyjuice potion?” Astoria asked. Everything stared at her, and she blushed considerably.   
“I brewed it.” Hermione said, meticulously organizing her notes.

“Well, maybe you lot should have brewed some common sense. Draco’s not the Heir of Slytherin, he would have told the world the minute he stepped into Hogwarts.”   
“Can’t blame us. He kept going on and on about his prejudices.” Harry shrugged. Said Slytherin was currently attempting to climb one of the bookshelves to get away from Theodore Nott. Harry supposed the only reason Draco Malfoy wasn’t shrieking bloody murder was that Madame Pince was scarier than Nott.

Blaise scoffed. “You British are so odd. At least you have enough sense not to force some of your soulmates into sex, and to respect pronouns. You would be gone, and then _someone else_ could take your puny island!” He struck a magnificent pose, and Crabbe and Goyle clapped lightly.   
“If you don’t like Britain, why not go somewhere that you _do_ like?” Harry pointed out.   
Blaise narrowed his eyes, before tapping the darker boy’s hand. “Xenophobic rhetoric from _you_ , Potter? Interesting. Now, I have come to your rainy island because...” He paused dramatically. “Beauxbatons refused my application due to being too full!”

“There aren’t any Italian schools?” Hermione asked in surprise.   
“There are only three in Europe, one in North America, and so on.” Astoria shrugged. “Italy won’t have its own as long as Beauxbatons exists.”   
“Though I would relish the chance to create my own beautiful school in Italy far away from your English cooking!” Blaise announced. “In fact, I have decided that I shall do that when I grow up. Thank you, Gryffindors. Up until now, I assumed I was just going to hoard money and have many heirs, while occasionally manipulating politics, like Draco or Theodore. Now I have a _purpose_. How exciting.”

 “Zabini, you better not be saying anything bad about me!” Draco called from the top of a particularly large bookshelf. Underneath, Theodore Nott appeared to be attempting a Summoning charm. By the way that Draco’s nails were carving ruts into the bookshelf as the Slytherin desperately attempted to stay on it, the spell appeared to be working. Though Malfoy _could_ just be terrible at hanging on to things.

Unfortunately, Madame Pince noticed. What happened next was the summoning of parents, heads of Houses, the Headmaster, and far too much shrieking. Of course, this all happened far from Pince’s library, in the Headmaster’s office.

Finally she calmed enough for everyone to speak, and the story was told in small modules.   
“Really, duckling?” Narcissa Malfoy sighed, sitting regally in her chair that was somehow more ornate than the rest of the parents’. “How did you even manage to climb a _shelf_? You haven’t done that since you were in diapers.”   
“Mother!” Draco hissed.

“Since the Gryffindors had no hand in this, I believe that they should all go, Mister Malfoy’s declarations of love not being worthy of a punishment.” McGonagall pointed out.   
“On the contrary,” Snape snorted. “They always appear when there is trouble. Either Mister Potter or one of his cohorts has extraordinarily bad luck, or they are more involved than we thought.”   
Theodore Nott was attempting to covertly leave his chair, though this was put to a stop when his mother placed a Sticking charm on him.

“What are you accusing them of?” Minerva demanded.   
“Minerva, have you ever heard of a Slytherin chasing their housemate, better yet, their _friend_ , about with a Muggle writing tool?” Snape pointed out.   
Mrs. Greengrass filed her nails, before remarking in an accent that was neither German nor French but somewhere in the middle, “Frankly, I’d expect it of _your_ son, Letitia.”   
Molly Weasley grinned. She’d never been privy to these discussions, but it was fun to watch them tear each other apart.

Arthur Weasley was busy, Lucius Malfoy was apparently above this as a school governor, Vittoria Zabini was off on holiday in Spain (though apparently without her husband), Peneus Greengrass and Cantankerous Nott II were apparently held up in a ‘meeting’, while the Crabbe and Goyle families couldn’t even be bothered to come, and the Grangers hadn’t been able to be reached. If anyone were to ask Hermione, she would tell them that this was very telling about the Wizarding World that mostly women showed up to take care of the children. Harry Potter, meanwhile, was quick to notice who showed up for whom, and realized that Malfoy was probably in possession of one of the least dysfunctional families.

“Theodore is a good boy!” Mrs. Nott hissed.   
Narcissa shot her a long look. “Your son has a gambling problem, and tried to assault my Draco. Clearly, he is not _that_ good, or he would have at least managed to do something better with his life than emulate his father.”   
Molly Weasley cleared her throat. “As entertaining as it is to watch you lot go after each other from behind your wine glasses, the fact remains that Ron, Ginny, and Harry are all innocent. Hermione’s involvement is circumstantial. All my children, honorary or otherwise, have no reason to be here.”

McGonagall stiffened, but nodded fervently. “I agree. As I said, my Gryffindors haven’t done anything, correct, Madame Pince?”   
“They were sitting near the scene of the crime.” Madame Pince muttered.   
“Which is, of itself, not a crime.” McGonagall pointed out. “Off you four go. And Harry, if you _must_ get into trouble, please let it be the sort where you were dragged in for being a bystander.”

Harry gave a wry smile. “I’ll try.”   
With that, the Gryffindors were gone, and Molly Weasley made her exit.   
“Mr. Nott, we’re going to have to enforce measures against you.” Dumbledore said kindly. “What you tried to do to Mr. Malfoy was not like you in the slightest.”   
“It was, this is just the first time he’s been caught.” Blaise muttered.   
Theodore glared at him. “And I would have gotten away with it if Draco didn’t have the lungs of an opera singer.”

“Should have just Petrified him.” Goyle pointed out.   
“We should go too, Headmaster,” Crabbe added. “Astoria should probably stay, since she would have been affected should Theo have gone through with it. Blaise is fine though. All he did was decide what he wants to do when he grows up.”   
Mr. Zabini perked up, before asking Blaise something in Italian. Blaise chirped back a reply, and Mr. Zabini grinned, before disappearing through the Floo. Blaise left with Crabbe and Goyle, smirking cheekily at Draco.

“And then there were three.” Snape drawled.   
Narcissa was bored already. She could use the opportunity to start marriage talks with Adalicia Greengrass, pinning the little Firsty so she couldn’t refuse. But Letitia Nott was hardly a palpable target at this point. Not with her, Snape, _and_ Greengrass apparently. Draco didn’t even look that upset, so she wouldn’t have to ruin the Notts’ reputations. All in all, the entire experience was likely a waste of time.

Dumbledore finally awarded Nott detention, Letitia Nott got hauled off to her mansion to squawk at the house-elves and ponder what was likely a lonely existence, and Narcissa slipped Adalicia an invitation for tea. She of course, accepted, and two weeks later, appeared in the fireplace.

“Will it just be us, then?” She noted in what Narcissa believed to be a Swiss accent.   
“Unless you’d like to recall Zabini from her vacation.”   
“Hmm, I’ve never really spoken with Vittoria…” Adalicia noted. “But let’s stop beating about the bush. You want me to marry off my daughter to your son.”

“I had hoped we’d have a bit more of a chase regarding the matter, but if we must.” Narcissa shrugged elegantly.   
Adalicia snorted. “You’ll have your chase, Madame Malfoy. Astoria is little more than an infant, and even if your son had not shouted at the School Healer last year, I would have my reservations. What happens when the Dark Lord returns and bestows the same reward on my baby that only his most faithful followers’ wives may have?”   
Narcissa felt her chest constrict. “How did you know about that?”

Adalicia blinked rapidly. “My apologies, Madame Malfoy. But you can see why I wouldn’t wish that on my child.”   
“That’s not what I asked.”   
“I know. If you must know, Madame Parkinson came to me one night after a particularly bad flashback. Her husband was in Sicily at the time, if I recall.”

“I see.”   
“Indeed.”   
“I have no love for the Dark Lord.” Narcissa told Adalicia. “I assume you know _exactly_ why.”   
“True. But your lack of love lost doesn’t mean that I want my daughter married off to a handful of fanatics who worship at his feet. Even if you yourself rightly despise the man, for one of the best reasons, you must realize that your husband would still support him.”

“Mudbloods have to be put in their place.”   
Adalicia was not impressed. “We have a different opinion on the Continent. And I refuse to sacrifice my daughter for your blood supremacy.”   
Narcissa closed her mouth sharply. “She is Draco’s soulmate. Besides, you’re a Pure-blood yourself. I’ve checked.”

Adalicia shrugged. “It’s certainly not the English ideal. Why, I can’t name one of my ancestors that married their cousin since the fourteen hundreds. Could you say the same, Narcissa Malfoy?”   
Narcissa’s eye twitched, and behind her, an ugly vase that Lucius had given her for their tenth anniversary exploded. “You have no right to come into my home and judge me.”   
“That is true. I am sorry for that. But I am not sorry enough to marry my daughter off to an exceedingly rude boy with likely something far more sinister than a lack of magic lurking in his blood. I’m not sorry enough to ship my youngest off to a family of fanatics who only want her for her _own_ blood, Peneus’ cousins or not. I’m not sorry enough to put her into a position where she could be forced to play concubine for a genocidal maniac, screaming bloody murder until she’s hoarse.”

Adalicia rose, then turned to Narcissa Malfoy. “Besides, it’s more up to Astoria than me.”   
Narcissa narrowed her eyes, then smirked. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a nemesis. Someone finally worthy of sparring with me. Everyone else is always cowed by my family names.”   
“I believe this will be _quite_ interesting.” Adalicia agreed. “And I see that you’re the type of woman to forge friends through conflict.”

“Oh, almost certainly. We’re throwing a Yule Celebration at the Manor this year. I would so love it if you and your daughters came.” Narcissa rose as well.   
“We shall not commit, but I shall definitely think positively upon your offer.” Adalicia replied. “I assume your recently exonerated cousin shall be there?”   
“Family is family.”   
“Indeed. And if we become family, I hope that our shared grandchildren may enjoy both our hair colours. I believe the contrast would be lovely in photographs.”

“Speaking by my own experience with my sisters, it is.” Narcissa agreed. Part of her was a bit disappointed that they had turned from less abrasive topics, but accepted it. Soon, Adalicia left, and Narcissa began more plotting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Yes, I referenced a Starkid joke.  
> 2) Yes, they have a Norse religion. ("Yule Ball" ring any bells?) To me, it's a more unique take on their world than the traditional Greek mythology. As such, they treat their women the same way. After all, Viking women supposedly had magic of their own, and y'know. Could actually leave their houses.  
> 3) Yes, I am writing this story under the headcanons of African-English Hermione and biracial Harry. Rowling kind of brushed off race there, and while this story has been kind of positive when it can, the Wizarding World is likely not as tolerant as it could be.  
> 4) No, I have no idea what a Swiss accent sounds like. What I CAN tell you about Madame Greengrass is that her mother spoke Swiss German and her father Swiss French, and she grew up with both used interchangeably.


	10. In which Harry Potter tells two Blacks they'll be friends 'someday'

Sirius Black was never very good at writing letters. Even if he was, what do you say to a thirteen year old boy whose only evidence that you _didn’t_ betray his parents is the begrudging testimony of Severus Snape? Not that Sirius blamed him.

However, Moony had also been sad that Harry had been a bit warier around him. He was still warm towards him, certainly, but the boy apparently equated them on some subconscious level with being left with those abysmal Muggles (for the record, Sirius had to employ all of his greatest tactics to ensure Moony would tell him the whole story).

“ _Dearest Prongslet,_

_Now that I am no longer on the run from the Ministry of Magic, would you like to come over to Grimmauld Place sometime? We could even live together if you want._

_I’m sure Moony wouldn’t mind._

_Much love,_

_S. Black._ ”

It had taken him sixty-four tries to get it right, but at last he was proud of it.  
When Harry opened it, he immediately looked towards the staff table. Minerva McGonagall was buttering a bit of toast and chatting with Professor Dumbledore. Harry was not going to trade her. Not now, not ever.

“Hermione, d’you have a bit of parchment?”  
“Sure, Harry. And a quill, unless you’re going to sear the words into the paper with your mind.”

Harry shot her a smile, before writing his reply.

“ _Dear Sirius Black,_

_I wouldn’t really mind coming over to whatever Grimmauld Place is, provided my guardian Minerva McGonagall can come too. In this vein, I’d rather not live with a man I don’t know beyond stories of his famed massacre and a showdown at the Ministry of Magic. Nothing personal. We could be friends in a few years, but right now, I’d rather stay with McGonagall._

_Sincerely,  
Harry Potter.” _

He gave the letter to the owl, then jumped in surprise as Draco slid into the seat next to him.  
“Potter.” Draco drawled.  
“Malfoy.” Harry pushed him back slightly as the other boy tried to climb in his lap. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Potter?”  
“You’re not going to strike a pose, are you?” Harry asked warily.  
Draco gave him a fond smile. Harry was quickly coming to the conclusion that someone had slipped him a love potion. “Oh, Potter. I love your little jokes.”

“Fred, George, this isn’t funny!” Harry called down the table, assuming they had been the perpetrators of said love potion.  
“Yes it is!” They answered in unison.  
Harry was cut off by Draco shoving a piece of fruit in his mouth in a manner that the Slytherin likely considered romantic.

Harry chewed, then swallowed. “Malfoy… may I speak to you alone?”  
Draco smacked him on the wrist. “Potter! We’re thirteen, I have a reputation to upkeep!”  
“As do I.” Harry muttered, before grabbing Malfoy by the arm and tugging him out of the Great Hall.

“Explain.” Harry told him when they were alone.  
“Potter, I told you I’m desperately in love with you.” Draco pointed out petulantly.  
“A few weeks ago, you seemed desperately in love with Astoria Greengrass.” Harry replied. Then a horrifying thought occurred to him, based on stories by Ginny. “You won’t start popping out of thin air and serenading me, will you?”

“No, Mother said that when Father had tried that for her, she had burst into laughter whenever she saw him.” Draco sighed. “It took a month for her to calm down enough to converse with him.”  
Harry digested this for a moment. “Lucius Malfoy was laughed at without dire consequences?”  
“Apparently he was quite awkward during their courtship.” Draco agreed.

“Regardless, what does this have to do with me?”  
“Potter, you’re smarter than this.”  
“Malfoy, you’re most certainly _not_ in love with me, whatever Nott may say.” Harry then looked at the ceiling worriedly, afraid that the other Slytherin would pounce on both of them. “Did _he_ slip you a love potion?”

“No.” Draco said dismissively. “You are correct, I am not currently enamored with you.”  
“That sounds like you were at some point.”  
The blond cocked an eyebrow. “When I was eleven, I had a bit of a crush on you. Your rejection just made me want you more.”

“Malfoy, you have a very unhealthy way to approach relationships.” Harry slowly noted. “But why me? Why now?”  
“Obviously while you were a simple bastion of childhood adoration, Astoria is my future.” Draco drew a hand to his chest dramatically. Harry raised an eyebrow.  
“She has rejected me wholly. I have decided, with counseling from Zabini, to try to make her jealous.”

“Which is where I come in.”  
“Of course. Naturally, I plotted this all from the beginning. The perfect mate. Not only would it prove to Astoria that morally I was willing to kiss Harry Potter, I was so Light, but it would also draw the Sheasel away from my Astoria.”

“Sheasel?” Harry repeated.  
“The female redhead who has an enormous crush on you.” Draco replied airily.  
“Maybe she doesn’t? When she was younger…?” Harry trailed off at the look on Draco’s face. “Potter, believe me when I say she wants to give you many redhaired babies.”

“We’re thirteen!” Harry hissed.  
“Well, I meant in the future! Keep up, Potter!”  
“What do you want, anyway?”  
“Help me in my plot.” Draco opened his arms wide as if for a hug. “Or let Odin smite you for your lack of wisdom.”

“ _Ravenclaws_ are all about wisdom.” Harry pointed out. “And what makes you think I will help you?”  
“We’re friends, aren’t we? Besides, if you don’t, I’ll serenade you.”  
“That would be more embarrassing to _you_.”  
“Potter, as I said, we are friends. Friends don’t let friends ford the river. …wait, no, wrong advice… friends don’t let friends make fools of themselves.” Draco pointed out.

Harry sighed, before taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I’m going through with this.”  
“But you are!” Draco remarked delightedly. “How excellent!”  
“This is only because you’ve become more ridiculous than vicious since Astoria’s name appeared on you.”

“ _Ridiculous_ am I?” Draco drew himself up to his full height (thankfully gained from the Malfoy side of the family) before pointing his wand at Harry. “ _Rictumsempra._ ” Harry burst out laughing from the tickling hex, as Draco smirked.  
“Mal-Malfoy, _stop!_ ”  
“No, Potter. You need much more laughter in your life. This is certainly classier than Weasley hexes.”  
“ _Malfoy_!”

Draco canceled the hex, and peered at his friend. “You certainly lasted longer than Theodore.”  
He started guffawing as Harry matched his hex, before dropping to the floor beside his friend. Harry released him, and they lay there in a somewhat comfortable silence.

It was broken slightly by Theodore stepping over both of them carefully, nose buried in _The Two Towers_.  
“I thought you were back to scheming.” Draco noted.  
“Mother was beside herself.” Theodore pointed out from behind his book. “And Pucey was far too smug. No, for now, I’m back to reading. Perhaps this tale can help me learn how to scheme better.”  
Harry sat up. “Nott, that’s a Muggle book.”

Theodore finally looked up. “So?”  
“If you’re into Muggle books about scheming, you might as well read ‘Art of War’ by… Sun Tsu?” Harry frowned in concentration. Hermione had mentioned the book a few times.  
Theodore blinked at him rapidly, before looking at Draco. “I like him. Good choice, Draco.”  
Draco puffed himself up as much as he could when sprawled on the floor. “I am a Malfoy. I only make good choices.”

Theodore raised an ebony eyebrow. “ _Really_? Care to take a bet on that?”  
“Nott, I really think you need to stop making bets.” Harry propped himself up on his left arm. “Next time it could be you on top of the bookshelf. Besides, what if you lose everything and have to put _yourself_ up as collateral? How would your mother feel to find you playing Ganymede to some wizard in Majorca four times your age because you bet on the wrong horse?”

Theodore squinted at him. “That was very specific, Potter. Are you alright? Is this some fantasy of yours, that I –or another Slytherin, Draco I presume, I won’t judge-- will be carried off by your dashing Majorcan wizard?”  
“It’s meant to be cautionary, you make it sound like a bodice-ripper!” Harry cracked a grin.  
Theodore’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, while Draco looked befuddled. “Why would Theodore be in a bodice?”

“Indeed. Perhaps I would be ripping the bodice off of the Majorcan wizard.”  
Draco glared at him. “One does _not_ rip clothing due to lust, Theodore.”  
“So you say, Draco, but one cannot deny the charms of the Majorcan wizard.” Theodore replied mildly. “He is enough to make me rip the most treasured of clothes.”

Draco looked vaguely disgruntled as Harry burst into silent laughter. “What’s his name, anyway?”  
“We know not his name, only that he is real.”  
Snape appeared out of nowhere, glowering at Theodore. “Mr. Nott, why is Mr. Malfoy lying on the floor?”  
“He and Potter were hexing each other.” Theodore replied smoothly.

“Detention, Potter.” Snape growled. “And fifty points from Gryffindor!”  
Draco gave a wail of anguish. “Godfather, how could you be so cruel to my one true love?”  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. I am perfectly polite to Miss Greengrass, despite her Gryffindor associations.”  
Draco threw his arms around Harry, before pleading, “My love, I cannot tell you my regret for how my wicked godfather has treated you. It appears that our two houses may never align whilst he and others preside over our fates!”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “It’s Snape, and me. He would have found a way to remove ninety points from Gryffindor before I woke up if possible, and would have awarded me multiple detentions for sneezing and spraying Ron with food this morning.”  
The Slytherins all made a face.  
“Remember, Draco. You want to snog _that_.” Theodore pointed out.

“One must work with what the heart has given us.” Draco sighed.  
“Eloquent, Draco.” Snape noted. “But his detention remains. And for the record, Mr. Potter, you are correct. A lack of manners would have resulted in further detentions.”  
Harry let out a sigh then flopped back onto the floor. “You _see_ what I have to put up with?”  
“It seems not even my love can protect you. Don’t despair, Harry. He’s only doing it so you don’t break my heart.” Draco cooed, before he grinned.  
 Snape raised an eyebrow, then deadpanned. “I’m doing it because Potter is an idiot.”

Harry let out another exasperated sigh, and Theodore helped him up. “You haven’t even met Narcissa Malfoy yet. She scares me.”  
“You tried to assault her son.” Snape pointed out. “You actually _lost_ points for Slytherin in doing so.”  
“What’s a little Summoning from the top of a bookshelf between friends?” Theodore asked nonchalantly.

Harry looked at Draco. “I’m beginning to understand you all so much better.”  
“Oh? Finally realized the purity—”  
“Don’t finish that sentence Malfoy,” Harry warned. “But no. I’ve finally understood that you are all barking mad.”  
Theodore nodded sagely. “Draco’s mother _was_ a Black. That would explain why he’s so… Draco.”  
“A high compliment, to be sure.” Snape rolled his eyes.

“Why yes, it is. To Draco at least.” Theodore agreed in what Harry believed the Slytherin was trying to pass off as an amicable manner.  
“Don’t insult my mother, Nott.” Draco remarked coldly. “She’s worth ten of you.”  
Theodore sighed. “Now, Draco. We both know that’s just not true. My family vaults, compared with your family vaults, averaging out to the value of each member of our individual families, means that your mother is only worth 3.254 times what I am.”

Harry let out a snicker, inching for the door. Snape shot out an arm and caught him. “And _where_ do you think that you are going, Mr. Potter?”  
“The Great Hall, to eat breakfast. Even _you_ can’t have a problem with _that_ , Snape.” Harry pointed out.  
“Call me professor.”  
“Can I call you Ishmael?”

Theodore chuckled, apparently the only one to get the joke.  
“Mr. Potter, you seem to be in an awful rush for someone forgetting their beloved.” Snape’s grip on Harry tightened.  
Harry scowled. “Right… Draco? I’m only going to help you if I’m not forced to. We’re meant to be _friends_. Equals.”  
“But wouldn’t you enjoy the japery that would ensue?” Draco wheedled, back to what he considered friendly and Harry considered ridiculous.

Harry glared at the blonde, tapping his foot. “Malfoy, don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding the topic of us being equals in this relationship. If I help you, I won’t have you treating me like one of your house-elves. You won’t treat me like Crabbe and Goyle. I want you to say it, right here, right now, in front of Snape and Nott.”  
“The witnesses are biased.” Theodore pointed out.  
“But there _are_ witnesses.” Harry pointed out.

“You’re a half-blood.” Draco snorted. “We’ll _never_ be equal.”  
Snape stiffened, and Harry jerked a nod. “That’s what I thought. Goodbye, Draco. Maybe we’ll be friends one day, but I wouldn’t count on it right now.”  
“Where are you going?” Draco demanded. “I need you!”

“Then you shouldn’t have been such a fantastic shit, eh?” Harry retorted.  
Draco turned to Snape. “Aren’t you going to stop him, Godfather?”  
Snape was silent for a moment, before he said, “Perhaps… there is more Lily in him than I thought.”  
“What does _that_ mean?” Theodore wondered.

Snape drew his cloak around him. “Nothing that nosy third years need concern themselves with. Away with you. You must eat breakfast immediately, it is most healthful.”  
The two young Slytherins watched as he billowed away, then began snickering.  
“It is most healthful.” Theodore intoned in a surprisingly similar voice to Snape’s.

“Away with you.” Draco added.  
They giggled again.  
Draco then sighed. “What on Earth is Potter on about, though? I need him.”  
“It may have been the fact that you told him –straight to his face no less— that you’re better than him.”  
“But I _am_.”  
“Draco, this is not how one makes friends.” Theodore pointed out. “Besides, how does one quantify one’s worth based upon magical use?”

“What do you mean?”  
“You think wizards and witches are better than all other creatures, correct? So all humans are on that tier. Yet Muggles are beneath you. So it is based on one’s family’s background.”  
“Of course.” Draco shrugged. “You know this.”  
“I’m not done. By this logic, squibs would be on par with you, yet according to your logic they aren’t. So it comes down to personal magical ability. Now, we both know that Harry Potter is an untapped power resource. We’ve seen him in all of his classes. We know what he’s done multiple times, things we ourselves cannot do. So how does your logic work to accept that?”

Draco was silent for a moment, before glaring at Theodore. “Really, Theo? _Really_?”  
“Of course.” Theodore shrugged. “What did you expect?”  
“What did I… Theodore, what are you _talking_ about? Of course we’re the best—”  
“You don’t know what to say, so you should just remain silent.” Theodore advised. “Personally, my system of merit is based primarily upon how kind people are to those they consider their inferiors and how intelligent I judge them to be. You make my list as a worthwhile person just by virtue of that last one, by the way. I’m disappointed though. I had thought you intelligent enough to realize that blood purity is drivel meant to control the masses.”

“I’m _excellent_ to all my house-elves!” Draco pointed out.  
“Yes, I imagine that’s exactly why Dobby turned towards Harry Potter, isn’t it? I’ve had a few conversations with him since Harry freed him— Harry Potter was polite to him. I doubt even you could say that, could you? Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go sit with Harry and Astoria.”  
“You’re not friends with them.”  
“No, but I wish I was. Given by how they’ve closed ranks around Astoria, I’m willing to wager they’re not as biased against Slytherins as one might think. They do, however, not enjoy discussions about that blood purity nonsense.”

“ _Nonsense_? Theodore, if your father could hear you, he’d-he’d… he’d lock you up in St. Mungo’s!”  
“You don’t know how true that statement may be.” Theodore said quietly. “But you also don’t know how I would have gotten there in the first place.”  
Draco stopped cold, watching his friend leave. Cantankerous Nott always seemed a bit odd, but he loved and approved of his son from a distance. Theodore wasn’t treated like _Harry_ by his relatives, was he?

Moreover, he’d have to write to Mother and Father about this turn of events. _They’d_ have a good retort for Theodore. Draco didn’t even want to think about the possibility that they wouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Lucius Malfoy v. Harry incident did happen in this universe as per usual, but at the end of the semester. The bit with the basilisk took place slightly before. Harry was waiting with a plan. 
> 
> "So why didn't you mention this before?"  
> So... you see... I kind of forgot about that until about Chapter 8. Sorry.


	11. Draco makes friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #letHermioneGrangerSayTheFWord2016

Narcissa Malfoy pursed her lips. The Nott boy was getting ideas, dangerous ones. What’s more he was passing them on to Draco. Obviously it didn’t come from his mother, in fact the boy’s nature was more Lovegood than anything else. But Theodore Nott _was_ Slytherin to the core.

Unlike Xenophilius and his wife (and presumably his daughter) with their happy, yet somewhat dull eyes, Theodore Nott’s were piercing, as if he saw through her to her very core and wasn’t pleased with what he saw. He unsettled her. And he most certainly was _not_ (pun unintended) the son of Cantankerous Nott. That much was for certain. Though Letitia Nott never seemed the type to bear a bastard… Narcissa shook her head free of the thoughts. Even if the boy _was_ what she thought (and he clearly wasn’t, given what he was telling Draco) it was none of her business.

She was more than a match for a third year son of Letitia Nott, and so was Draco.   
“Cissy, I heard an owl. Anything interesting from Draco?”   
Narcissa tossed the letter in the fire, before turning to face her husband. “Nothing, why do you ask?”   
“Because you never burn Draco’s letters, for one.” Lucius pointed out.   
“Oh, it’s nothing. The Nott boy is just getting some stupid ideas about us being on par with Muggles and the like.”

“It’s those books he reads.” Lucius clucked. “We should tell Draco to stay away from him.”   
Narcissa beamed at her husband. “Brilliant idea.”   
“I thought he came from such a good home, though…” Lucius sighed as they exited the room, Draco’s letter still smoldering.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Draco Malfoy frowned at the letter, then looked at his turncoat friend, still consorting with Gryffindors. His parents hadn’t reassured him. Quite the contrary, really. They just told him to ignore it. What was he, a Muggle? No, this clearly meant Nott had some base, because his parents wouldn’t just tell him to ignore it, otherwise. They’d trample the idea into the ground.  Draco felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped upon his head. He even looked up for a minute to make sure that the infernal Weasleys hadn’t actually done so. No, it was just his preconceptions of the world shattering around his head. Good to know.

“What’s wrong with you?” Crabbe asked.   
“I just found out that _Muggleborns_ , maybe even _Muggles_ , probably every bloody thing else in the world, is _equal_!” Draco threw his hands up in the air like Professor Trelawney.   
“And your problem is?” Blaise asked.   
“My parents were _wrong_! And now I’m not the _best_!”

“And yet you acknowledge it.” Blaise mused. “That takes guts, Draco. I’m proud of you.”   
“I’m not.” Pansy Parkinson screwed up her face, accentuating how she looked rather like a pug. “What are you on about, Draco?”   
“Theodore told me two days ago that pureblood ideals don’t make any sense.” Draco sighed.

Pansy frowned at him for a solid minute, before getting up and stomping over to Theodore and the Gryffindor table.   
Daphne stared at Draco. “And you believed him? Just like that?”   
“My parents didn’t say anything against it!”   
“But you could have lied to yourself! You could have made anything up, like they were too busy to reply properly, or ignorance in Muggles means they’re below us or something!”   
Draco glared at Daphne. “Why do you sound angry? Aren’t you on the Light side?”

Daphne fell silent for a moment, glaring at him. “Because I hate you, Draco Malfoy. No matter what you say, what you do, I will always hate you. I was content to stay away from you, but then you had to go get my sister involved in your schemes.”   
“If anything, she’s involved in _Theodore’s_ schemes, seeing as they are over there and I am over here!” Draco argued.

“Theodore is weird, but he’s not so bad. You however… you’re arrogant, self-centered, endowed with an overly large superiority complex for everyone and everything, racist, rude, and the embodiment of an ass.”   
“Don’t say such things. Asses are perfectly lovely, round…” Blaise trailed off at the look on Daphne’s face. “You meant the donkeys? They did not deserve that either.”

Draco shot a glare at his friend. “Rude.”   
Blaise shrugged, while Daphne continued trying to stare Draco down. “I don’t believe you’ve changed for one moment, Draco Malfoy. I think this is another trick.”   
“It’s _not_.” Draco huffed. “My worldview has been shattered, can you at least give me some sympathy?”   
“I have no sympathy for the devil.” Daphne hissed, before drawing her robes to her in a rather Snape-like manner and stalking away. Curiously, her exit was heralded by several Ravenclaws bursting into song.

“Blaise, are the Ravenclaws being stranger than usual to you?” Draco asked.   
“Ravenclaws are always strange. Perhaps Theodore should have gone there.” Blaise pointed out.   
“True enough. Coming?”   
“Oh, of course not. We have biscotti and hot chocolate _and_ coffee over here. Over _there_ they have ‘kippers’, and sausage.” Blaise’s voice was laced with disgust. “How could you _eat_ that so early?”

“You eat biscuits for breakfast. That’s not exactly healthy either.” Draco pointed out as he rose.   
“It’s a good deal more palatable.” Blaise scoffed. “And they’re _biscotti_ , Draco. Learn the difference, would you?”   
“Bye Blaise.” Draco strode over to the Gryffindor table, looming over the pitifully short Harry Potter.

Draco stared at Harry until the Gryffindor realized he was there and turned around. “What d’you want, Malfoy?”   
“I’ve realized that blood purity is nonsense.”   
“Really? You don’t think Muggles are inherently violent, or anything? That they’re no better than animals?”   
Theodore snorted. “In terms of violence, Draco, scion of Houses Black and Malfoy, has no grounds to talk. And really, in terms of intelligence, if I understand correctly the Muggles are _at least_ a hundred years ahead of us with technology and gaining.”

“Yet we have magic.” Draco scoffed.   
“Yet they have bidets and light up shoes.” Theodore pointed out. “The Wizarding World is very nice from an aesthetic point of view, but we have in no way reached the pinnacle. Did you know the Muggles got to the _moon_?”   
Draco fell quiet, then opened his mouth to speak. He shut it again, then looked at Theodore. “Really?”

“Well, yes, they did, but you don’t seem that sure about this whole equality thing.” Hermione pointed out.   
“I am! Theodore revealed how hypocritical I am!”   
The Gryffindors and Astoria all looked at Theodore, who shrugged without looking up from his book. “I figured it was best to start slow. Draco is progressing much sooner than I thought.”   
“Mother and Father didn’t really refute your point about us being hypocrites.” Draco sighed. “So I was left to assume that you are right and therefore your system of meritocracy is also right.”

“Well, I’m not right about everything, but yes. I knew you were intelligent enough to understand, Draco.”   
Draco shot him a glare, before ordering Dean Thomas to budge up. “Where’s Pansy, Theodore?”   
“She demanded to know what I was telling you. I told her. She stormed off. She’ll cool down, I’ll explain.”

“She’s your soulmate.”   
“Yes, and not every moment is meant to be spent in eternal bliss. We have to work for it, and we’re going to fight, and she’s going to be wrong and I’m going to be wrong.” Theodore sighed. “Now shut up. Talk to the Gryffindors, it’s their table.”   
Draco turned to Harry. “So? Ready to allow me to be your friend?”   
Harry choked on his food, and Ron thumped him on the back. “Malfoy, you don’t seem to understand what friends _are_.”

“Of course I do.” Draco scoffed.   
“What are they, then?” Ron asked. “And you’re not allowed to use the words, ‘superior’, ‘father’, ‘money’, ‘underlings’ or ‘bodyguards’.”   
Draco rolled his eyes. “Friends are people, generally your age, which you talk to about issues and you have fun with each other. They make jokes with you, and you accept them even if they’re odd like Theodore or Muggleborn like Granger.”

“So close.” Ginny pointed out. “We should give him a point for trying.”   
“I’m more worried about the ‘own age’ thing.” Harry shrugged. “Malfoy, do you have adult friends?”   
“You’re going to make a lewd comment, aren’t you?” Draco sniffed. “I am acquainted with some of my father’s associates, yes.”   
“And he failed. Good night everybody.” Ron grinned.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not going anywhere.” Draco told him.   
“Though are you going to apologize?” Hermione asked.   
“For what?”   
“Work back through what you said.” Ginny advised.

“Hmm… oh. You thought that I was being racist towards you, Granger.”   
“It wasn’t a _thought_ , don’t try to pass it off as a misunderstanding, you outright said that they were friends with me despite me being Muggleborn!” Hermione hissed, dark curls swinging as she whirled to face him.   
“Give me a break, Rome wasn’t built in a day!” Draco argued.

“You still don’t appear to have learned from two days ago when you said that we would never be equals because my mum was muggleborn.” Harry’s voice was low. “It’s not _that_ slow of a process, Malfoy.”   
Draco glared at him. “I disagree, Potter. It’s actually going quite quickly, for something that took a lifetime to learn being destroyed.”   
“So you don’t think Hermione is inferior for being Muggleborn?” Ginny asked.   
“And black.” Hermione added.

Draco sighed. “I… no. Not when she’s better than me in every class. Not when Potter, with his Muggleborn mother, is a very strong wizard.”   
“And now we have to see how much of his behavior comes from classism as well.” Theodore noted from behind his book.   
“What’s race got to do with it, anyway?” Draco asked.   
“He says after forcing the black Muggleborn to move.” Dean sighed to Seamus, who nodded sympathetically and glared at Draco.

Hermione’s hands curled into fists. “I’ve read all the history books, how they say all the witches and wizards worked together. I know how to read between the lines, how people would have reacted when their brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, what-have-you would be taken away to a land where they would have been treated as _less_ than nothing, where people were little better than objects. They wouldn’t have just waved goodbye, Draco Malfoy. They would have fought to the death if need be to protect their families, because not all of us view our family as stepping stones to becoming Minister of Magic!”   
Silence fell across their area for a minute, before Draco sighed. “We have house-elves, Granger.”

“The first house-elf was bonded fully in 1835.” Hermione hissed. “Two years after the anti-slavery act was passed. Don’t tell me the Wizarding World isn’t racist when everyone still acts like it’s 1900 and they’re trying to pretend they didn’t have _black_ muggle slaves even though they _did_ and you can still feel the way people talk and think about people like me –exactly like me, in fact!— reverberate through the halls of Hogwarts, let alone Diagon Alley or anyplace else. Imagine for a moment you have to hear the slurs, see the violence, fear that you might be next, all because everyone got used to the idea of people being objects! And then, add some pointy, paler than the driven snow… _git_ to it, calling out _more_ words, linked to _more_ violence… and you will realize just how much better _everything else_ sounds compared to the Wizarding World!”  

Harry began to applaud, and the Weasleys followed his lead. Astoria likewise copied Ginny, Dean and Seamus Finnegan nodded, and Theodore looked up from his book. “What did you do?”   
“I got Granger to give me a lecture on racism.”   
“Did you learn anything from it?”   
“I’m surrounded by a table full of applauding Gryffindors. I think it can be said I know what to say.”

“That means you did and you don’t want to admit it. You tend to get very Snape-y when you’re like that.”   
Draco tilted his chin up into the air, before conveying in tones not unlike that of the Potions Master, “Eat your breakfast. It is most healthful.”   
“Which is exactly why he lets Blaise have coffee every morning.” Theodore remarked flatly.   
“Oh no, that’s because he is afraid of Madame Zabini.” Draco pointed out. “She’s quite formidable.”

Theodore bit back an obvious remark and retreated behind his book. It would do no one any good to talk about Vittoria Zabini, especially near impressionable Gryffindors. It might, after all, get back to her, or far more likely, her son. Neither boy pretended that Blaise was not dangerous, for all his ridiculousness. Best case scenario after his mother was insulted, he’d poison them. If he was feeling particularly nice, it’d be one they could cure with a bezoar.  

“Potter, I really do want to be friends with you.” Draco sighed, turning away from the disastrous conversation.   
“Yes, for ridiculous reasons.” Harry pointed out.   
“Again, for _pranking_ reasons. And that’s not _just_ why.” Draco made his eyes go big. “I’ve never had a real friend before. One that didn’t espouse pure-blood doctrine and tattle to my father.”   
Theodore lowered his book pointedly, before looking around. “I appear to have fallen into a universe that I do not exist in, at least in this capacity. How displeasing. I wonder if Professor Snape will allow me to remain as a member of the house, not to mention what Mother will say.”

Draco waved him off. “Not now, Theodore. I’m trying to make friends with the Gryffindors. It’s actually harder than one might think.”   
“It’s really not.” Astoria told him. “Have you tried not being a git though? That seemed to work for Theodore and me.”   
Draco shot her a glare. “ _Thank you_ , Astoria.  And yes, I _have_ been trying. I even asked for Potter’s help, which he has _still_ not yet confirmed, on a project.”   
“No need to be rude to her.” Ginny growled.   
“Malfoy, I rejected it.” Harry pointed out.

Draco shrugged. “So? You did not _confirm_ , so I must continue to ask.”   
“ _That’ll_ get you far.” Hermione huffed.   
However, the Gryffindors, as one, seemed to accept that this was as far as they’d get Draco Malfoy to change his evil ways, and so welcomed him as they would welcome a particularly annoying first year.

Miles away in a highly guarded Wizarding prison, a man muttered and sighed. “Three months? He’s not here, no no no. I suppose… I suppose _I_ must just go to _him_. He’d like it, wouldn’t he? He _loves_ me. Yes. Yes. I shall go see what has been keeping him. It would be so easy…”

And it was.


	12. In which Grindelwald shows up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I tuck and roll out of the canon bandwagon.

“Potter…!” Harry looked up from the table to see Draco Malfoy somehow sliding the length of the hall towards him on his knees. A quick glance at the other boy’s hair revealed that the oil he usually used there did not appear to now be lubricating his descent down the hall. It just seemed that was how Draco Malfoy operated.

“He’s looking slimier than usual.” Ron commented.   
Harry shrugged as Draco came to a stop in front of them. “Malfoy.”   
“Potter, I’ve come to profess my undying love for you.” Draco replied, taking Harry’s right hand in his.   
Ginny spat out her pumpkin juice, unfortunately all over Astoria.

“Oh, Malfoy, we can’t.” Harry did not have much experience with this sort of thing, but he had listened a bit when Aunt Petunia had watched the soap operas on the telly. Actually, that was how he had heard most pop culture references, such as Sir Hiss.   
“My love, why?”   
Surprisingly, the Great Hall had not stopped to listen.

Harry pulled Draco up onto one knee. “Because, my darling, whilst our houses are both alike in dignity, it would not be seemly for a Gryffindor and a Slytherin to wed.”   
Ron looked as though he was about to scream. Harry was _marrying_ Malfoy? As a _Third Year_?   
Hermione was impressed with the Shakespeare reference though, and resumed eating her dinner. Apparently acting was _not_ one of Harry’s many talents, though Malfoy was wonderful at chewing the scenery and just being an enormous ham.

“My love, we can form a path between our houses! Why throw away a chance at true love because of something so… so… so trivial! Once we leave Hogwarts, it’s nothing to us anymore!”   
“D-draco… I… even then, I will just be a half-blood! What would your parents say?” The words tasted bitter in Harry’s mouth.   
“I don’t care about blood purity anymore, you know that! I just care about _you_ , and our new life together!”  

“You bloody well couldn’t get married _yet_!” Ron finally interrupted. “You’re _third years_!”   
And just like that everything seemed to erupt around them.   
Draco stood up fully and clutched at Harry while Ginny stood up as well. “Draco Malfoy, I challenge you to a duel!”   
“What?” Astoria asked in surprise.   
“What?” Harry asked at the same time.   
“Oh dear.” Hermione looked away from her food.

Ginny’s face was red, and pinched in anger. “I challenge you to a duel!”   
“State your grounds.” Draco now looked somewhat shrewd, instead of the adoring look he’d heaped on Harry.   
“For trying to seduce my soulmate! He doesn’t _normally_ act like he wants to snog you senseless!” Ginny hissed, before placing her right foot on the table (between her plate and Astoria’s, she wasn’t raised by wolves) and rolling up her robe to reveal ‘ _Harry Potter_ ’ written around her ankle.

Draco smirked, before gently pushing Harry away. “I accept! You fool, you’ve played right into my trap!”   
“Malfoy, you said this was meant to go on for a while to make Astoria jealous! Can’t you even remember your own plans?” Harry hissed.   
“Why are you helping him?” Ron demanded. “He’s a git!”   
Draco ignored the redhead. “I needed a duel for the same reason, but it is beneath me to admit that _my_ soulmate was lured away from me by a _Weasley_ of all people! Now though… name the time and place, Sheasley!”

“What?” Ginny demanded.   
“Because you’re a girl and a Weasley.” Harry sighed.   
Draco puffed himself up. “It doesn’t _matter_. Name your second!”   
“I’ll do it.” Hermione volunteered.   
“And you, Malfoy?” Ginny asked.

“Potter?”   
“No, she’s my soulmate, and _she_ is one of my best friends. Ask Nott, or Crabbe or Goyle or something.”   
Draco frowned. “I’ll find one later. Shall we say tomorrow night at midnight, on the Quidditch pitch?”   
“You’re on.” Ginny smirked. “And _when_ I kick your little blond pointy arse, you stay away from Harry _and_ Astoria.”   
“Wha--… that’s selfish!” Draco huffed.

Ginny shrugged. “She doesn’t want you. If she does, I won’t stop her, but you need to stop popping out of shadows and reciting bad poetry.”   
“Oh, like that Valentine you wrote Potter last year?”   
Astoria looked towards Ginny questioningly, and she blushed. “At least it was only _once_ , Malfoy. Not every other week.”

“My poetry skills are amazing! Aren’t they, Potter?” Draco elbowed Harry in the side.   
“No.” Harry deadpanned. “Can I sit down now?”   
“In a minute, Potter. Adults are talking.”   
Harry squinted at him. “Ginny and Astoria are both younger than me. Hermione is the eldest of all of us and she’s mostly content to sit and watch what’s going on. The jig is up, Malfoy.”

Draco dramatically (and somewhat jarringly) clasped an arm around his shoulder. “It’s not over until the fat lady sings!”   
“Well, that’s a bit rude.”   
“Don’t question me, Potter. It’s over when I say—”

The doors to the Great Hall swung open, cutting him off. Everyone immediately shut up. A tall, somewhat thin old man lacking a beard with gray eyes that darted wildly around the room stood there for a moment, dressed in rags, before the corners of his mouth turned up. Hermione stiffened. Dumbledore rose. “Gellert Grindelwald, what are you doing here?”   
“I came to see you. You _promised_ to come see me, and you didn’t.” He shrugged. “Besides, if you’re not going to keep your end of the bargain, why should I?”

Then he smiled, and strode forth. “I missed you though, Albus… didn’t you understand, that day in Godric’s Hollow? Forever _means_ forever.”   
“Leave this place.” Dumbledore’s voice was lower than any of the students had ever heard it before.   
“Leave? Now? No. I’m not leaving again. Neither are you.” He was almost at the dais now. “So why don’t _you_ and _I_ go find somewhere nice, and have a little… _talk_?”

The other teachers were standing now. “How did you get past the wards?” McGonagall spat.   
Grindelwald tilted his head, glancing at her wand, before turning back to Dumbledore, offering an open hand. “You really should have come to see me sooner. By this time tomorrow, the Pretender’s little followers are going to be realizing that Sirius Black’s escape wasn’t a fluke. And the last thing you want anyone to have while they’re in Azkaban is hope, because _that_ leads to uprisings and _that_ leads to escape. It’s all your fault. If you had visited me on time, I wouldn’t have _had_ to leave Nurmengard.” 

“The wards there were _infallible._ ” Flitwick snapped. “No Apparating in or out!”   
Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. “I _put_ the wards there in the first place. I only _deigned_ to stay there, day in and day out, reliving the memories of those I killed over and over for _one_ reason.”   
“How did you apparate into Hogwarts? Did you put up _those_ wards too?” Snape sneered.   
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I’m hardly going to tell anyone who followed the Pretender _anything_ though. However, I suppose it’s not _your_ fault. You were only trying to follow the next best thing, having heard of my reign.”

“We were under the impression that you _regretted_ your actions.” Dumbledore was still speaking quietly.   
Grindelwald shrugged. “I do. After a fashion. But I know why they did it. And I know why they’ll do it again, and best of all, I have a feeling your beloved Riddle is going to make a comeback soon, either as a concept or in reality. When that happens, hugs and orphans and whatever else you throw at him –though, I would not reject throwing the annoying one who dresses as though he came from a funeral at him, just to distract him for a moment—will not stop him. You need me. Or at least a Dark Lord, but I rather doubt you have any others on hand.” He peered around Dumbledore, as though expecting someone to leap out from behind him and start blasting holes in everything they saw.

There was a pregnant pause.   
“Minerva… I think you and Mr. Grindelwald need to join me in my office.”   
Grindelwald scowled. “Now, Albus, I realize I’m on probation… but _please_. We are soulmates after all.”   
Dumbledore hung his head as the Great Hall gasped as one.   
Harry sighed. This was, of course, perfectly normal for him. Why _shouldn’t_ Dumbledore’s soulmate be Gellert Grindelwald, who seemed to think Voldemort wasn’t powerful _enough_? Why _shouldn’t_ his soulmate be his best friend’s little sister, who he thought was getting over her crush on him? The school year _had_ been a bit normal recently, besides Malfoy going mental. This was just everything snapping back into place. On the same night. Although, in all honesty, he would have preferred Hermione or someone else be the Chosen One on nights like these. Speaking of Hermione, she was looking a bit sick, and was clutching at Ron’s arm, eyes wide and breathing shallow.

Ron, for his part, was hugging her tightly, though he looked just as terrified. Harry leaned over and patted Hermione’s arm awkwardly, watching Grindelwald as he hung off of Dumbledore’s arm and a scandalized McGonagall followed the two men out of the hall.   
“I was upstaged by _Grindelwald_?” Draco hissed once they were all out of sight. “Unacceptable.”   
Hermione and Ron both gave him a searing glare.

Harry tugged Malfoy down next to him. “Not _now_ , Malfoy.”   
Draco pouted a bit, but shot Hermione an apologetic look. “You won’t be murdered in your bed. Dumbledore won’t let him, soulmate or not.”   
“I’m not scared.” Hermione huffed, but she looked a little more confident.   
Draco nodded, before grabbing a roll. “Good. Can’t have the Gryffindors all terrified. Next thing you know, the Hufflepuffs have all jumped ship, the Slytherins are useless, and the Ravenclaws are idiots.”

Upstairs in Dumbledore’s office, the man in question pulled out his wand. “Gellert, I’m going to have you swear an Unbreakable Vow. Otherwise, it’s off to Azkaban with you.”   
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “You’d never send me to Azkaban.”   
“I should have killed you where you stood nearly fifty years ago.” Dumbledore snapped.

“You know why you couldn’t have. The vow you made prevents you from hurting me without hurting yourself. But of course.”   
“You can’t seriously be trying to make a deal with _him_.” McGonagall gasped.   
Dumbledore turned to look at her, his face completely serious. “He may be our only chance to defeat Voldemort, once and for all.”   
Grindelwald smirked.

“And lighting your foot on fire might save it from being bitten by a dog, but it’s much more ruinous!”   
“Minerva… most of Gellert’s acting out is caused by a lack of attention.”   
“I don’t _care_ , Albus! I won’t stay here, and I certainly won’t let _Harry_ stay here if you’re keeping that _madman_ around!”   
Albus paused, and Grindelwald slunk forward. “The little orphan who you want to defeat the Pretender? I want to meet him.”

“ _No_.” McGonagall drew herself up to her full height. “You most certainly will _not_ touch Harry Potter in any way. You will not look at him. You will not corner him. You will not come _near_ him or I will _kill_ you where you stand. Do you understand me, Grindelwald?”   
“Couldn’t do it without killing Albus, but I like your spirit. Pureblood?”   
“Halfblood.” McGonagall spat. “And I would do it anyway, at this point.”

“Minerva, you _mustn’t_ take Harry away. It’s vital to his training that he remain here, being molded to a weapon of the light.”   
She narrowed her eyes. “Harry is a _child_ , not a _weapon_.”   
“Minerva, please. I care for the boy, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Harry _must_ be sacrificed to destroy Voldemort.”   
She flinched at the name, before spinning around and destroying a silver whirligig, rather than its owner. “My ward, no, my _son_ , will not be a pawn in your games, Albus. If you say one more word about him being so, I will resign immediately, pull Harry from the school, and take him up to my family’s home to be privately tutored. And you might not like the fact that he is no longer so easily manipulated when he comes back down.”

Albus looked sorrowful. “Sacrificing Harry might be the only way to stop Voldemort once and for all.”   
“And yet you didn’t kill someone _worse_ than him. Not even when he stands here before you! No, _Harry_ must die to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but _you_ must remain here to manipulate children in your games!”   
“I like her.” Grindelwald commented. “ _And_ I agree with the half-blood. Don’t use children to fight your battles, Albus. It just makes you look like an ass.”

“Gellert, it’s for the greater good.”   
McGonagall destroyed another whirligig.   
“That was from the previous Supreme Mugwump.” Albus sighed. “Are you quite done, Minerva?”   
“Don’t _ever_ say it was for the greater good. Ever again.” She hissed.

Grindelwald nodded. “After all, if it ever came out that you were sacrificing children… that doesn’t seem very _good_. And the Muggles are a bit stupid –you’ll allow me _that_ , at least?-- so it’s silly to waste children on them. But I digress. The issue doesn’t lie with Potter, though I’ll need to look him over and revise his schedule so he has extra training.”   
“Why?” McGonagall demanded.   
“Think of it this way; do _you_ want the boy to meet the Pretender armed with only school spells? Not only that, but _Hogwarts_ spells?” Then he looked interested. “Or are you going to have him use a gung?”   
“A gun, Gellert.”   
“Yes, that. Have him learn how to use one of those. _That_ would be excellent.”

McGonagall looked scandalized. “Certainly not!”   
Grindelwald shrugged. “Your child. But again, I need to train him. _And_ I will look into why the Pretender has lasted this long. And what killed him, of course.”   
“It was Lily Potter’s love.”   
“Mm.” Grindelwald sounded as though he didn’t believe him. “Albus, do you think she was the first woman in the world to say things like that? No. She wasn’t. So keep your love shield ideas to yourself. Now, where can I find his soulmate?”

“He didn’t have one. Or at least he didn’t say.” Albus shrugged.   
“Ask the ghosts, he apparently knew them well. Or they would have seen something.” McGonagall was loath to help Grindelwald, but her alternative was agreeing with Albus, who would sooner offer Harry up to his pagan gods on an altar than help the boy defend himself.   
“I’ll start there then.”

“This may be helpful too.” Albus produced Tom Riddle’s diary from his robes. “Apparently part of Voldemort was trapped in there.”   
“A horcrux?” Grindelwald asked, after a bit of thought. “It figures that the Pretender would be so stupid as to do so.”   
“That’s incredibly dark magic, Gellert. So dark even _you_ never touched it.”   
Grindelwald burst out laughing. “Oh. Oh _no_ , Albus. I never touched it because that would have been incredibly stupid of me. I quite liked my mind the way that it was, and even though there have been a few adjustments over the years, it’s much more intact than the Pretender’s ever was.”

“Gellert, he could never have known love. It makes sense that he was—”   
“To create at least one horcrux you need to kill your soulmate.” Grindelwald interrupted. “That’s the first. Most are driven mad at that point, and kill the rest of themselves, seeking atonement while wandering Hel’s domain. The ones who _don’t_ are still driven mad, though quite honestly, they were mad to begin with to get this far. They just keep killing. _Especially_ if they kill those they should have been close to. According to the old texts, seven is the limit before they become a soulless husk, and slowly each piece consumes itself.”

Silence fell over them for a moment.   
“I’m glad you didn’t create a horcrux.” Dumbledore said.  
Gellert smiled. “I’m glad too.”   
McGonagall made a face. The thought of her friend and colleague consorting with _Gellert Grindelwald_ … it really made her question what she knew about Albus.

“But Gellert, he _couldn’t_ have had a soulmate. He was conceived under a love potion, he couldn’t love.”   
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “Albus, if every child who was conceived under a love potion’s effects was a Dark Lord, there wouldn’t have been any Muggles _left_ by the time that I came along. A love potion creates stunted magic, dear heart. Anything like _that_ was because of his ancestry, probably because his mother was a Muggle or something. In any case, he could have loved, once. And then he likely thought love was weakness instead of drawing strength from it, so he crushed it, before it was able to sink its claws into him and change him and not let him go about destroying things. It’s a bit hard to do so when one’s lover is crying and screaming at you to stop, as we both know. And _then_ he couldn’t love, and he’d never wanted to try.” He reached over and patted Dumbledore’s cheek. “Stick to dragon’s blood.”

“Before you can go out and collect your theories, Mister Grindelwald, I want an Unbreakable Vow from you that you won’t hurt any of our students or anyone else.” McGonagall said.   
Grindelwald shrugged. “Sure. Albus?”   
Dumbledore stood, and drew his wand, keeping it in his right hand. Grindelwald did the same, clasping Dumbledore’s free hand with his. McGonagall touched her wand to their entwined hands.  
“That’s not your wand.”   
“No… I think this belongs to the Ambassador of Azerbaijan.” He frowned in concentration. “I Apparated from border to border until I was far enough away so I popped into the nearest Ministry of Magic, grabbed a wand, and floo’d to Hogsmeade. Aberforth was _not_ very happy with my sudden appearance, but oh well.”

Regardless, Dumbledore asked, “Do you so swear to not raise a wand against Hogwarts and her students unless in self-defense, and in that instance never to use an Unforgivable, and to defend the Light, the magicless, and those that you killed once, but now never again?”   
Grindelwald pouted, while McGonagall’s wand enclosed their arms in fire. “I so swear. Do you swear not to leave me to rot in prison, instead letting me live with you in your quarters, and not to take another lover?”   
“I so swear.” Dumbledore said, as McGonagall’s wand shot fire again.

“Well, I think I’ve had quite enough of _his_ company.” McGonagall pointed out stiffly, gesturing vaguely to Grindelwald, before sweeping out of the room.   
Neither Grindelwald nor Dumbledore moved to stop her, and as soon as she was gone, Grindelwald whipped back around to face Dumbledore. “So… shall we get down to… business, Albus?”   
Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile. “I believe we shall, Gellert.”

Grindelwald grabbed his wrist, and towed him away from the desk. “ _Finally_ , a real bed again. I was beginning to grow a bit tired of a monthly meeting on a stone floor, Albus.”   
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Now that you say it… I believe I was, too.”


	13. The chapter with new ships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or like... two. One is a crackship, so... one and a half? 
> 
> Also, just telling you now, I don't like Snape. At all. Harry's going to give a rundown of why that is soon.

The school was abuzz the next day as Grindelwald was _not_ returned to Nurmengard or some other dank pit. By 9:34 am, Hermione had had enough. After gathering as many Muggleborns as she could, along with some halfbloods from other houses, most of Gryffindor tower, and Hagrid, they marched towards Dumbledore’s tower.

“Thank goodness it’s a Saturday.” Harry commented to Ron while marching along to the rhythm of Hermione’s chants.   
“Nah, I’d wanna skip Potions. Snape’s been acting weird, according to Astoria.”   
“Weird like possessed-by-Voldemort weird, Grindelwald-weird, or just a new brand of Snape weird?”   
“All thoughtful and a bit less snappish.”   
“That _is_ weird.”

“Professor Dumbledore!” Hermione said, knocking on his door. “Come down here and explain yourself!”   
The door swung open, and Grindelwald poked his head out. “Albus is busy. Come back later.”   
“Why are you _here_?” Hermione demanded.

“Because Albus promised not to send me back.”   
The crowd began talking at once, before Hermione quieted them. “We’d like to speak with Professor Dumbledore, not _you_.”   
“Hmm, tragic. Listen, little girl. Albus is _busy_. He has no time for tea parties.”   
“And yet he has time for a mass murderer to be kept in the school.” Harry pointed out.

Grindelwald shrugged.   
“Would he still be so _busy_ if our parents began complaining?” Ron added. “Can’t imagine they’d want a maniac near us.”   
“Besides Sirius Black.” Fred piped up.   
“And the basilisk.” George added.   
“And Quirrelmort.”   
“And the Philosopher’s stone being hidden here, drawing all sorts of people to Hogwarts.”   
“And the heir of Slytherin.”   
“There’s only so much a mum can take, Grindelwald.”

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky Albus locked me in an Unbreakable Vow not to hurt any of you, or I would kill…” Here he paused, eyes shifting between them. “The one on the right.”   
Fred and George looked at each other, before switching places a few times.

“It doesn’t mean a specific one.” Grindelwald pointed out. “I just despise identical twins. Do you know how inconvenient you are for everyone? Why, back in 1944, I had to kill my trusted lieutenant Brestovich because he unfortunately had a twin brother in sanitation and it was just far too annoying wondering why my number one planner was shoveling my shit when I woke up at 3 am.”

“Only Dumbledore would have someone as insane as _him_.” Harry muttered to Ron in the ensuing silence.   
Hermione glared at Grindelwald. “This is exactly why you can’t be around children! You-you… you’re worse than You-Know-Who!”   
“I am _not_. Well, actually, I am, since the Pretender is stupid and ineffective, but I would never kill a newly orphaned baby with _magic_ , even if it _was_ prophesied to bring about my downfall.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “What _would_ you do, then?”   
“I’d either drop it out the window or raise it as a weapon.” Grindelwald scoffed. “Obviously. And you know, the Pretender just creates his own downfall whenever he so much as opens his mouth. No one should have trusted him to dispatch a child on his own, he’d probably trip and crack his head open on the pavement.”   
“Now, now, Gellert. What are you telling these children?” Dumbledore descended the stairs, stopping behind Grindelwald. “Now, Miss Granger, whatever is the matter?”

“You’re keeping a murderer in the castle like he’s a pet! He killed scores of people like us, thinks the problem with You-Know-Who was that he was _ineffective_ , and not ten minutes ago launched into a tirade about killing his right-hand-man just because he was a twin!”   
Harry raised his hand. “Given our track record with professors, would it be safe to say he has been offered a position on the staff?”

“Oh, I’m on the staff alright…” Grindelwald snickered to himself.   
Dumbledore shot him a glare. “Not _now_ , Gellert. Miss Granger, I appreciate your concern. However, Gellert is bound by an Unbreakable Vow not to harm any of you, and after many assurances, Nurmengard has sent me the equipment necessary to continue his punishment. Gellert’s punishment for his crimes was life, not death, but a life where he must continually relive the memories of those he killed, those he hurt. Unlike Lord Voldemort, Gellert has feelings, and understands love. He understands all the pain he has caused, yet does not revel in it. Gellert’s presence here is for the greater good, after all.”

By the look on Hermione’s face, she was quickly coming to the same conclusion as Harry and Ron; that the ‘greater good’ that Dumbledore loved toting about was really not the same thing as the safety and welfare of millions of people that they had thought it.  
“Now, Professor, what’s the _real_ reason you’re keeping old Grindie around?” George asked slyly.   
“I imagine it’s a similar reason Oliver keeps me around, eh?” Fred grabbed the Keeper in question’s arm and batted his eyelashes.   
Ron made a face. “I hope not. The thought of one of you getting shagged in the broomshed is bad enough, don’t need to drag Professor Dumbledore into it.”

George and Grindelwald chortled. Fred grinned. Oliver Wood turned scarlet.   
Dumbledore chuckled. “Now, now. I shan’t kiss and tell. Miss Granger, would you kindly disperse your army?”   
Hermione crossed her arms, but nodded tersely. She certainly wasn’t going to go against Dumbledore, even if he wasn’t going to _listen_.   
Seeing that there was no battle between Hermione and Grindelwald, the students drifted off, with the exception of Fred, (who was dragged off quickly whilst wearing a lewd smirk by Oliver Wood), Hermione, Harry, and Ron.

“I understand you’re not satisfied, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore sighed.   
Harry raised an eyebrow. “It’s a bit hard to sleep well when a proto-Voldemort is dancing about the castle, with the headmaster in the palm of his hand.”   
Grindelwald shrugged. “Then don’t sleep. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not to speak to you until when the half-blood witch allows for me to begin training you to defeat the Pretender. In the meantime, eat more. You’re too scrawny. You’re more of a martyr right now than a hero, and no one needs a martyr while they’re alive.”

“Are you threatening Harry?” Ron spat.   
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I offered to train him, didn’t I? Also, Albus, arrange for the training with the gumps, even if the half-blood witch tries to stop you.”   
“Guns, Gellert.”   
“Yes, yes, yes. The point is not what they’re called, the point is that the Pretender shall die quickly and then while his gaggle of idiots stand about and gawp at him, they can be easily killed too. If they’re not, they’ll run about like chickens with their heads cut off and fail to cure him adequately, and thus the Pretender dies either way.”

“Gellert, the issue isn’t his death, but him remaining dead.” Dumbledore then frowned at the Gryffindors. “I believe all of us should return to our work now. Gellert, I suggest you start with—”   
“The little ghost girl who lives in the bathroom.”   
“No, Gellert. The Gray Lady.”   
Grindelwald paused for a moment. “No. Little girl in the bathroom.”

Hermione glared at him, but he swept past her. Dumbledore smiled benevolently at the children, before disappearing back up into his office.   
“Well, let’s follow him then.” Harry said.   
“Who, Grindelwald? Why? It’s not like Moaning Myrtle can die.” Ron replied.

Harry shrugged. “We always do things like this. We never spend a weekend just… playing games, or something. We’re always trying to solve a very adult problem, and I don’t think we should stop now.”   
“I have the duel tonight though.” Hermione pointed out. “That’s abnormal enough for us.”   
“Yes… but not adult enough.” Harry said.

“We never should have done stuff like this anyway.”   
“Well, now we have, so there’s nothing we can really do to change it.” Ron said. “Harry’s right, following Grindelwald is more interesting than studying spells.”   
“Not what I said, but yeah.” Harry shrugged. “Two against one. Coming, Hermione?”   
“Oh, alright. Just so we can prove how bad he is.” Hermione sighed.

Grindelwald found Myrtle’s bathroom easily. “Hello? Little ghost girl?”   
Myrtle floated out of a bathroom stall, and Grindelwald turned to face her, facing away from the door. “You’re not here to throw things at me, are you?”   
“No. I don’t have anything to throw. I came to ask you if you knew about a boy named Tom.”

Myrtle’s eyes lit up, and Harry, Hermione and Ron peeked inside at this point. “Ooh, Tom Riddle? He said we should keep it secret –and I did!—but since you’re asking…” She drew up her robes to reveal a translucent thigh. Harry and Ron made a face in unison, and Hermione rolled her eyes.   
Grindelwald, however, nodded. “And where did he have your name?”   
“On his shoulders.” Myrtle let her robes fall back into place. “Tom was such a handsome boy. He was even more handsome than that American actor, Clark Gable! And he was all _mine_ … at least until I died.”

“And how _did_ you die?”   
“I was in here crying, because Olive Hornby insulted my glasses, and Tom wasn’t speaking to me, and I heard someone come inside, and they said something rude, and of course it was a boy, so I opened the door to tell him off. Then I saw two yellow eyes, and the next thing I know, I’m _here_.”   
Harry’s eyes widened.   
As did Grindelwald’s, judging by how shocked he sounded. “You understood it?”

“ _Him_. A bit. His voice was _very_ thickly accented and very soft.”   
“…Little ghost girl, what house were you in?”   
“Ravenclaw.”   
“Did Tom know of your abilities?”

“He never asked. I didn’t really think it was an ability, it was just talking to someone with an incredibly thick accent when they were whispering. Almost like I couldn’t hear them at all.”   
“Little ghost girl… if I understood correctly, that was a basilisk that killed you. Which makes you a parselmouth. Or at least, a bit of one.”   
“Like Tom.”

“Yes. Like Tom.”   
Myrtle looked incredibly satisfied with herself. “I _thought_ he might be. That Harry Potter is a parselmouth too, did you know? And he’s teaching that Weasley girl. I wish Tom had taught me.”   
“Yes… Myrtle, did you have any relatives relating to Salazar Slytherin?”   
She scowled. “No. Of course not. Mutti and Papa were Muggles.”   
“Mutti?”

“She was German. Both of them were Jewish, but Papa was English and when… well, you know. Papa got us to Britain safely. I died before the war ended, but I hope… I hope they were happy when it did.”   
A long silence fell over both of them.   
“Any Greek relatives?” Gellert finally asked.   
Myrtle blinked owlishly at him. “I suppose I might have one or two. Why?”   
“Because there are two lines of Parseltongue; the Slytherin line, and the original line. Salazar Slytherin was not the first, you know. Nor was he the last, but that’s neither here nor there. Did you see your Tom again, after you died?”

Myrtle suddenly shifted her gaze away from him. “No.”   
“…did you see anyone by the name of Lord Voldemort?”   
Her gaze snapped back. “What are you implying?! Tom could never be _him_ , never! Tom was smart, and clever, and handsome, and he made me feel like the most special girl in the world.” She gave an injured sniff. “Even if he _was_ terrible at poetry. It was endearing, really.”   
“I apologize. But, as guardian of the Chamber of Secrets, I was wondering if you had seen anything going on.”

“…the book.” Myrtle finally sighed.   
“The book?”   
“The one the Weasley girl had. It… it had part of Tom in it. I could _feel_ his presence, but he didn’t come talk to me. I know which Tom it was though.”   
“What do you mean, ‘which Tom’?” Grindelwald asked.   
“After I died, Tom was different. I was scared to talk to him, because of how changed he was. I told myself he was still Tom, but he _wasn’t_. He _couldn’t_ be. Tom wouldn’t act like that after I died!”

Harry winced as all the sinks started overflowing at once while Myrtle sobbed.   
“Shh, shh, little ghost girl. You’ve told me something very interesting—you can sense objects with Tom’s presence in them?”   
Myrtle nodded, wiping her tears on the back of her robe.

“And if I were to find more such objects for you—”   
“No.”   
“No?”   
“ _No_. I don’t want to feel Tom being _different_. I don’t want to feel it at all. I don’t to hear you say Tom in one breath and _him_ in the next. I don’t want you coming in here and ruining him! I don’t want you to say it!”

“Say what?” Grindelwald asked.   
A toilet exploded. The Golden Trio flinched.   
Myrtle hissed, advancing on Grindelwald slowly. “You _know_ what it is. _I_ won’t say it. _I_ won’t acknowledge it. Because saying it makes it real. So, because you want me to say something that isn’t real, I think you need to go.”   
“You think it _is_ real, so that’s why you won’t say it.” Grindelwald pointed out.

Myrtle screamed, and brought a wall of water down upon Grindelwald.   
The Golden Trio sensed this would end badly if they stuck around, and sprinted down the hallway away from Myrtle and Grindelwald. Ron was nearly throwing himself forward, yanking Harry and Hermione along with him.

When he finally judged it was a safe space, he stopped abruptly. “So… You-Know-Who not only killed Myrtle, in another timeline he might have shagged her.”   
“Ew, Ron.” Harry got out between breaths. “Don’t make me think about _that_.”   
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Why does _Grindelwald_ want to know though? And what does he want with Harry?”

“Well, he _says_ —”  
“I know what he _says_ , but why would you trust what a person like _him_ would tell you? In general, you shouldn’t believe murderers, Harry.”

“Well, it would be hard for him to murder me in the castle. Dumbledore might be upset, you know.” Harry shrugged.   
“Yes, and Dumbledore might be upset if he killed you, but Grindelwald would remain here, and it wouldn’t bring you or me or anyone else that he killed back! Which is why you don’t let complete nutters into schools with innocent children!”   
“Even ones who got past all those trials in First year?” Harry asked innocently.   
“And fought a basilisk.” Ron added.   
“And let’s not forget Aragog and his kin.”   
“Ugh, don’t remind me. But who also flew a car into the Whomping Willow with nary a scratch?”

Hermione scowled at both of them. “I have common sense, so I wasn’t there for most of that. Neither was the rest of the Hogwarts population. You may think that you are indestructible, Harry James Potter, but you’re _not_. One of these days you are going to go too far and you will be realize the depths of your own mortality at the very least. But as I said, most of us _aren’t_ the Boy-Who-Lived. Most of us wouldn’t _really_ be missed if we were dragged off into dark corners of the castle and tortured mercilessly by Grindelwald until we died. Most of us would be names without faces, dying against Grindelwald or God forbid, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Tragic, young, and ultimately forgotten. Forgive me for not being pleased that a murderer is in our midst and I am not _you_.”

There was a small silence, then Ron scowled back at her. “How come you always lecture Harry?”   
“Don’t get me started on you, Ronald Bilius Weasley.”   
“Oh, look. The genie of bad decisions has granted you a wish today Ron.” Harry commented.   
“You enable Harry, you encourage him to go about doing stupid things, because you think it befits a Gryffindor, and a hero! Well, I don’t know if anyone’s noticed, but Harry’s _not_ a hero! He’s a little boy!”   
“I don’t see _you_ saving the Wizarding World!”

“I don’t see you, either! Part of your friendship with Harry is built on the fame and admiration you receive by proxy, so you don’t _want_ to acknowledge it!” Hermione hissed. “Face it, Harry Potter is just a normal Wizarding thirteen year old!”   
Ron’s face darkened. “How _dare_ you. I was Harry’s friend first, you only became our friend after that bit with the troll! And if that wasn’t heroism, I don’t know what is! But in any case, Harry is more than a ticket to fame! Do you _honestly_ think I would _care_ if Harry wasn’t Harry Potter? No! Because he’s a good friend, he’s fun, he listens, he has a lot of good ideas, and _he_ doesn’t accuse me of being in it for the fame!”

“Oh, face it, Ron! You’re the youngest, the most overlooked! Bill and Charlie are cool, Percy was a prefect, Fred and George are pranksters, Ginny is the first girl in seven generations, and _what are you_? You don’t know what you are, besides Harry Potter’s friend! Well, guess what, Ron! That’s not a defining personality trait!”   
Ron let out something unintelligible, before running off.

Hermione’s face immediately fell, before she stepped forward as if to follow him. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far...”   
“Now look what you’ve done, we’ll never catch him.” Harry sighed, before holding onto her sleeve. “Why did you say that, anyway?”   
Hermione wiped her eyes on her free sleeve. “Because you two are always getting into danger without me. All you do is exchange your company for help with your work, and I don’t need your pity! And if that was it, it might have been fine, but like I said, you continuously put yourselves in danger! He’s always egging you on! You’re going to die someday because you’re both taking the stereotype of Gryffindor to the extreme, and then what? Who will talk to me then? You’re-you’re my first friends.”

Harry sighed, and released her. “Look, I understand that you are upset, and you feel left out. I honestly understand that. I know you’re scared, especially over Grindelwald. But there’s no need to take it out on Ron. We _are_ your friends, but we can’t be if you’re going to go for our weaknesses whenever we have a fight.”   
“This is the first time I’ve done so.”   
“And it _needs_ to be the last for our friendship to survive. Now I’m going after Ron, you shouldn’t. You’ll only start screaming at each other again.”

“I didn’t mean it all like that. Ron is special. He’s…”   
“Yeah, I know. Ron told me. Or… as good as told me, anyway.  Point is, my best friends are likely going to snog one day and have lots of babies—”   
“We’re thirteen, and _no_!” Hermione chuckled, before wiping her eyes again. “Maybe one or two, but not _lots_!”   
“You dropped out of divination. I didn’t.” Harry replied. “I have learned many tricks from Professor Trelawney, and she says you will have no less than six.”

“Harry!”   
“Sorry Hermione, I have to go talk to Ron now.”   
Harry started towards the Owlery, deciding Ron might be hanging about there.   
On his way, he ran into Professor Lupin, wearing nicer robes, though looking a bit more haggard facially than usual.

“Harry.” Lupin smiled warmly. “It’s good to see you. We never talk outside of class.”   
“I have been a bit busy.”   
“With Mr. Malfoy?” Lupin chuckled.

Harry shrugged. “And Grindelwald. And other things. Just one thing after another, honestly.”   
“Yes… well, winter holidays are coming up, so that will be fun. Would you like to visit Sirius and me? We could tell you more about your parents.”   
“Professor, are you trying to bribe me?”

Lupin chuckled again. “No, no, Harry. I just… Pad—Sirius and I knew you as a baby. I’ve told you, we were best friends with your father.”   
“Ah… you’re trying to remember him through me.”   
“Well, not necessarily. We also knew you as a baby, and would like the opportunity to reconnect with you.”

Harry eyed Lupin warily. “McGonagall is my guardian.”   
“I know that Harry, but wouldn’t you like to spend some time with Sirius and I from time to time? We’ll… we’ll spoil you rotten.”   
“I don’t want to be spoiled rotten. I want to know what you _want_.”   
“What I want?” Lupin blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend what Harry meant.

Harry nodded. “When you stood with Sirius Black, the man I thought had murdered my parents and against me, I thought… well, I didn’t exactly trust you. I don’t trust easily, Professor. Especially not when it comes to teachers. And now, I don’t know what you _want_. I know what Dumbledore wants; he wants to use me as a weapon for the greater good. Fine. I know what McGonagall wants; she wants to assuage her guilt by taking care of me. I assume you do too, but you haven’t anything to be guilty about. You haven’t been here for the past two years, watching me walk around all skin and bones. From what I understand, you could barely take care of yourself. Out of everyone I blame for what happened to me, which is still a new process, I don’t blame _you_. So what do you want from me?”

“I want to get to know you.”   
“No, that’s wrong. You know me enough to know I’m not the hero people adulate, and that’s usually enough.”   
“I’m not going to bow and scrape to you, Harry.”   
Harry shrugged. “I know. That’s what I just said. But why are you still pushing? Because I’m James’ son?”   
Lupin immediately backed up. “No, Harry, not at all—”

Harry nodded. “It is, isn’t it? You wouldn’t care as much about Dean or Draco or anyone else like you and Sirius Black care about me.”   
Lupin shifted his weight from one side to the other, much like a teenager. “Harry, I recognize that you and James are separate entities.”   
“But you want to feel closer to him through me.”

“Is that really so bad?” Lupin asked. “And I’d also like to become _your_ friend, Harry. You can trust me.” He held out his hand for a shake, and Harry eyed it suspiciously.   
“It’s not so bad that you want to have a piece of my father in your life, since you were friends. But I will think about trusting you. I told you, standing with Sirius Black and against me affected my trust in you. You stood against me, and that was what mattered.”

“You set a basilisk on us.”   
Harry shrugged. “I thought you were consorting with the man who had betrayed my parents. An honest mistake. But in any case, I still saw you stand against me. I know you’re a nice man. But I’ve met other, equally nice teachers who ended up being some of the worst, or at least, the least helpful people I’ve ever met. When Voldemort comes back, Professor, I don’t need the sort of person who will call my abusive aunt in for a chat about ‘those strange marks on my back’ and how underweight I am for my age group. I need someone who will look at those things and take charge.”

“And I did.”   
“Professor, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you are not the sort of person to lead a battle charge over anything except a chocolate sale in Hogsmeade. You are a kind, quiet man, with a simple life.” Harry eyed Lupin’s new robes. “Or… previously simple life.”   
Lupin smiled sheepishly. “Sirius made me get them.”   
“They look nice on you.” Harry nodded, before walking away without glancing back at Lupin.

Sadly, as he was making his way across the grounds to the owlery, he next ran into Snape.   
“Oh. Potter.”   
Harry sighed. “Hello, professor.”   
“Would you mind… looking me… in the eye?” Snape asked awkwardly.   
Harry raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced. “Professor, if you’re going to take points from Gryffindor, and generally act as you do, please get on with it. I am very busy at the moment with the mass murderer on campus in particular, and I don’t really have time to be overly penalized for looking you in the eye.”   
“I won’t penalize you.”

Harry frowned. “Professor… do you need help getting to the hospital wing? Here, lean on me…”   
Snape stepped back, his black cloak billowing behind him on the first layer of snow of the year. “N-no, I…”   
“Professor, are you feeling alright?” Harry asked.   
“Of course. Please come see me in my office tonight. Alone. Actually, no, a week from now.”   
“And if you’re better by then?” Harry asked skeptically.

“Potter, I assure you, I’m _fine_!” Snape hissed.   
“There’s the professor we all know.”   
“The phrase is ‘we all know and love’, Potter.”   
“I know how it goes.” Harry replied smoothly. “And _why_ can you not tell me whatever it is out here in the snow? There’s no one else around. Are you afraid that the owls will judge you for whatever secrets you shall thrust upon me?”

“ _Some_ people don’t _like_ the cold, Potter. And at least one of the Weasley twins is lurking around us.”   
“Oh no… a tragedy… my friends, people who will protect me… they’re nearby.” Harry deadpanned.   
“What would I do to you that _they_ would need to protect you?” Snape hissed.   
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d rather not think about what goes on in your mind. But when you don’t like me and even Grindelwald won’t trust you—besides the fact that you work for the man who killed not only my parents, but hundreds of people, that generally sets off warning bells. I wouldn’t know though. I’m only thirteen.”

“Surely you don’t blame _me_ for Lily and James’ deaths, do you?”   
“I don’t know _who_ to blame, Professor. But regardless, you heard about the incident at the Ministry. If I thought for one moment you had betrayed them the way I thought Sirius Black had…” Harry paused, glancing at Snape’s forearm. “Well, I’ll see you for tea, was it, a week from now.”

With that Harry turned and walked away from yet another professor.


	14. The Duel and its aftermath

“Well Ron, it’s not like you can get a soul divorce every time you fight.” Fred pointed out.   
“But hey, for five galleons, we’ll extend the same offer to you as we did to Ginny.” George added.   
“What offer was that?” Harry asked, stepping around an owl pellet.   
“Ron, it’s the Heir of Slytherin!” Fred gasped.

“Run, Ron!” George added.   
“Hasn’t that gotten a bit old?” Harry asked them.

“No.” They answered in unison.   
Harry rolled his eyes, before sitting down next to Ron. “You alright?”   
“No. I don’t care _why_ she did it. How could she _say_ all that? It’s true, but…” Ron sighed and wiped his eyes.   
"Our offer has dropped to three galleons.” Fred said as George looped an arm over his brother.

Ron sighed. “I don’t care about your _offer_. Hermione’s my soulmate, and I just… I need some time alone, to get rid of all this stupid _anger_ and stop being so bloody sad.”   
Harry rested his elbows on top of his knees, and his head on his hands. “Do you want to talk about anything else?”   
“No.” Ron remarked, somewhat petulantly.

“You two want to talk about the offer you gave Ginny?” Harry asked the twins.   
They smiled and shook their heads.   
“Just know that it involves your kneecaps.”  
“As a matter of fact, interesting that you didn’t know you had her Name…”   
Harry’s eyes flickered between them warily. “Are you going to strip me naked and spin me around like a top until you find what you’re looking for?”

“No, just your underwear.” Fred shrugged.   
“And we were going to hang you upside _down_ , not spin you.” George added.   
Harry shot both of them a look that would have done Aunt Petunia proud, and turned back to Ron. “D’you want to go hang out on the Quidditch pitch or anything?”

“No. I just… I sort of want to just shake her and ask her _why_ she said that!”   
“Hermione was scared of losing us.”   
“She has a funny way of showing it.” Ron scoffed.   
“ _And_ we both know she goes too far sometimes when she tries to do the right thing.” Harry added. “But bigger problems are arising.”

“Harry, _no_. We’re kids. Let’s not deal with the bigger problems now.”   
“We don’t even _talk_ like kids. We talk through our problems in a way that’s _far_ too mature.”   
“Yeah, that bothers me too. It’s almost like whoever was controlling us before has released us out into the wild to be picked up and have our destinies written and rewritten by countless others, and this particular person has no idea how to write actual children.”   
Harry frowned in concentration. “Regardless, let’s get back to the Hermione issue. This sort of thing is why we didn’t become friends with her for the longest time. She always thinks she’s right, but at the moment, she’s _not_. You _are_ important, Ron. You have a very keen mind –remember the giant Wizard’s Chess in first year?—you’re just as adventurous as any of your brothers, and you are a true friend.”

Ron smiled. “Thanks, Harry, but I’m also worried about the part where she said I was going to end up leading you to your death.”   
The twins let out a whistle simultaneously, causing the Third Years’ heads to snap up.   
“You’re still here?” Ron asked.   
“Of course.” George shrugged.

“And anyway, if anything, Harry’s not going to be led to his death by _you_. Unless… no.”   
“You can’t be.”   
Both twins stared at Ron.

“Our little brother is secretly Voldeshorts, Fred.”   
“Can’t tell Mum, can we? It’d break her heart.”   
“Especially after Ginny got the diary last year.”   
“True, George. We should inspect ickle Ronnikins to make sure he hasn’t accidentally made off with You-Know-Who’s old socks.”

“Stop trying to call each other by your own name.” Harry huffed.  
“And leave me alone!” Ron added.    
Fred and George looked at each other, before looking back at Harry.   
“Ginny got a good one.”   
“Even Mum can’t tell the difference between us.”  

Ron crossed his arms. “Can you two stop cooing over Harry and bugger off?”   
“Fine, little brother.”   
“Don’t come crying to _us_ when you are possessed by the socks of the Dark Lord.”   
“Oh, go shag Wood.”

The twins filed out, and Harry helped Ron up. “Do you feel a bit better, at least? We can track them down and you can yell at them some more, if you’d like.”   
“Nah. It’s no fun yelling at the twins, especially when you tend to wake up with a bunch of spiders in your hair.” Ron shrugged.   
Harry thought for a minute, before saying, “It’s fine to be scared of things. I’m scared of pigeons.”   
Ron stared at him for a second. “ _What_?”

“Don’t judge me, you’re scared of spiders.” Harry grinned.   
“Yes, but _pigeons_?”   
“There was this time that Aunt Petunia took Dudley and me to the market, and I got lost and ended up in the town square. There were pigeons everywhere, and more kept coming. An old woman gave me a bag of crumbs to give to me, and immediately they all stared at me. It was scary for a little kid.”

“You literally own an owl.”   
“Hedwig doesn’t stare into my soul with beady little red eyes.” Harry countered, before walking out of the owlery.   
Ron followed. “I bet you hope there isn’t a giant pigeon just lurking in the Forbidden Forest.”   
Harry grinned. “Well, I hope Sir Hiss would scare it off as well. As I recall, Aragog’s family _hates_ Sir Hiss.”

“Wait, the spiders were running from the castle… Harry, where are the giant spiders?”   
“As far as I know, they’re still in the Forbidden Forest. Sir Hiss has told me that he isn’t interested in eating any of them, but Hagrid says they’re migrating south.”   
Ron blinked rapidly. “They’re… leaving?”   
“Yup. I fear what happens when they hit a Muggle town, but it’s not _my_ problem.” Harry shrugged.

“What, you, Harry Potter, savior of the…” Ron trailed off, frowning.   
Harry slung an arm around his taller friend’s shoulders, though he admittedly had to hop a bit to do so.   
“Well, I’m certainly not savior from the bloody giant spiders.” Harry grinned. “Hey, maybe Lockhart could do it.”

“Lockhart’s got enough problems without _actually_ having to do something for once in his life.” Ron snorted. Gilderoy Lockhart had apparently been driven away from the school during the summer holiday by a pack of lawyers showing up claiming he had stolen the memories and adventures of other people. Needless to say, Lockhart’s location was now unknown.

The two of them continued laughing all the way back to the castle, poking and prodding each other occasionally. Harry was quick to notice that Ron ignored Hermione at dinner, and shot her an apologetic look. She had other friends, right? Actually it seemed like only Astoria was trying to talk to her. Ginny had quickly picked up on Harry and Ron ignoring her, and family loyalty came before friendship, and Hermione wasn’t really friends with Gryffindors otherwise.

Of course, Theodore Nott was sitting with them again (was this going to become normal?) though he had his nose in another book, this one apparently entitled, ‘Outlander’.   
“Hey, Theodore. I thought you were going to read ‘Art of War’.” Harry pointed out.   
Theodore looked up from his book. “I find that no one should ever discuss tactics in the open.”   
“’Art of War’? I’ve never heard of it.” Ginny commented.

“It’s Muggle.” Hermione broke in.   
“Really? How do the Muggles wage war without magic?” Astoria asked, interested.   
“Well, the most famous, and which shaped our century, was the Second World War. All sorts of things were used; planes, tanks, ships—and aircraft carriers, nuclear weapons to name a few.” Hermione pointed out.   
“What’s a plane?” Astoria asked. “How do you use it to attack someone?”

“It’s a Muggle flying device. They would mount guns on them, or load them with bombs to drop on the civilians below.” Hermione explained.   
“Muggles can _fly_?”   
“I mentioned they’d been to the moon.” Theodore pointed out. “They’d have to get up there _somehow_.”   
“I don’t listen to friends of Draco Malfoy.” Astoria said haughtily.

Theodore raised an eyebrow, before shrugging and returning to his book.   
“What’s a gun? What did they do before the guns and planes?” Astoria asked.   
“A gun is a… well, I suppose it’s a device that shoots metal incredibly quickly. Before then, they used arrows, and fell back to castles like this one to use as fortresses. If invaders came too close, they’d pour boiling oil over the battlements.”

Astoria listened intently as Hermione explained more about Muggle weaponry. Ginny listened quietly too, occasionally glancing at her brother. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if most of the purebloods near them were listening in, including Ron, though he tried not to show it. Harry was hoping he wouldn’t have to play matchmaker. He had no idea how, though he thought he might get Draco to lend him some house-elves to set up a dinner by the lake. Of course, that would mean involving Draco, which meant that bad poetry would be recited, and probably a house-elf would end up playing an instrument like a lyre. Harry wondered idly about the possibilities of a house-elf delivering an amazing solo on a harpsichord, while Draco Malfoy recited awful sonnets. Likely loudly as well, knowing Draco Malfoy and how he reacted when he wasn’t receiving enough attention.

If he couldn’t be certain that Ron would yell at him to shut up, which would make Draco speak even louder, and thus lead to a fight, Harry probably would have done it. He might even watch from the bushes like the twins, even if they kept nudging him and talking about how it was improper behavior for the heir of Slytherin.

Eventually though, they had to sneak out of their respective dorms for the duel. The Gryffindors arrived after the Slytherins, though half their house had apparently trailed after them. Harry only realized this was proper behavior when he walked up to the Quidditch pitch to see half the Slytherin house raising their wands in Lumos.

“So… this is a thing.” Harry whispered to Ron.   
“Of course. We need to be able to see.” The ginger whispered back. “Now we begin the rituals by the wizard… erm… Min Lanuel Liranda, maybe? I don’t know, he’s an American.”   
“ _What?”_

“The challenge demands satisfaction. If they apologize no need for further action.” Recited Pucey, as they stepped in between Ginny and Draco.   
Both of them shook their heads, before shaking hands with their seconds.

Madame Pomfrey entered the Quidditch Pitch. For a moment, Harry (as well as most of the Muggle-raised) froze, but she only gave a curt nod to the combatants before facing purposefully away from them.   
“Plausible deniability. She’d rather we got hurt in a way she knew what was happening, but Dumbledore’d… no, McGonagall’d kill her if she found out Madame Pomfrey was letting us do this.” Ron explained.

Draco and Ginny moved into position, and Hermione and Theodore moved past them, pausing only to take a letter from each of them.   
“That’s in case they die.” Ron said nonchalantly.   
“ _Ron_ , your sister is _twelve_.”   
“They probably won’t.” Ron shrugged. “It’s just for show.”

Hermione and Theodore stepped forward, meeting in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch.   
“Miss Granger.”   
“Mr. Nott, sir.”   
“Can we agree that duels are dumb and immature?”   
“Sure.” Hermione grinned. “But your friend has to answer for his words, sir.”

“With his face? We both know that’s absurd.”   
“Hang on, how long has he been bothering Astoria? When it comes to love, he is inexperienced and ruinous.”   
“Okay, so we’re doing this.”

Both seconds started back, and Ginny and Draco started towards the middle. They met each other, stopped, and turned around, before Pucey called out ten paces. On the tenth, both whirled and starting shooting at each other after a quick bow.   
“Snape and Lockhart never taught us this.” Harry told Ron.   
Ron shrugged. “Yeah, but Snape’s an arsehole and Lockhart’s an idiot. This is the true way to duel.”   
“You didn’t tell me any of this in first year either. I was pretty sure it was against the rules.”   
“It is.”

Ginny and Draco continued to fire spells at each other.   
“So how does this end? A song? ‘Oh, the Weasley and the Malfoy should be friends?’”   
“When one of them calls it off or gets too hurt.”   
Ginny hit Malfoy with a nasty Bat-Bogey hex.

“Agh, Theo!” Draco tried to touch his fingers to his nose and show Theodore his open hands. “Am I bleeding?”   
“There’s bound to be _some_ tearing.” Theodore shrugged.

“Malfoy do you yield?” Ginny demanded.   
“You got him in the face, _yes_ he yields.” Theodore shrugged as Draco kept trying to touch the tips of his fingers to his nose and look at his open palms despite the green bats pouring out of his nose.

“I’m satisfied.” Ginny grinned.   
Draco’s head snapped up, and he looked as though he was about to say something. Hermione interrupted. “We have to clear the field.”   
Ron bumped Harry. “We won!”   
A light turned on in the castle, before a small form dropped out of Gryffindor tower and landed easily on its feet (probably using a Cushioning spell if Harry was being logical).

“Here comes McGonagall!” Someone yelled.   
“This should be fun.” Madame Pomfrey huffed as she tried to deal with all the bats encircling Draco.

“What is the meaning of this?!” McGonagall demanded. “Why are all of you out of bed? Harry James Potter, what are _you_ of all students doing here?”   
“I am apparently one of the prizes, Professor.” Harry shrugged. “I had to be here to support Hermione and Ginny, and to find out whether I would be giving Draco foot-rubs for the rest of my life. Or Ginny back-rubs. Whichever.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “And half of Gryffindor house couldn’t relay the results of a duel?”   
The students shuffled their feet. Harry took a small headcount. “No… it seems half of Gryffindor is back in their beds, Professor.”   
McGonagall cracked a rare grin for a split second, before announcing, “One point from each of you for this, and detention for Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Nott, Miss Granger and Miss Weasley, for _three_ sessions. I don’t want to see any of you out of bed doing this foolishness again, do you hear me?”

Hermione raised her hand. “Professor, it’s only two days until the train leaves to go home.”   
“Yes. You four better pack early, you’ll be spending the last day with me in detention.”   
Everyone let out a hiss of sympathy. McGonagall pointed back to the castle. “Get back in your beds _immediately_ , or else I shall make it five points each, consequences to the Gryffindor hourglass be damned. And should Argus Filch catch you, I won’t defend you. Go!”

Immediately there was a surge of students towards the castle.   
“ _Et tu,_ Poppy?” McGonagall sighed.   
“I didn’t actually see it happen, Minerva.”   
McGonagall narrowed her eyes, but shook her head.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Miles away, Narcissa Malfoy had finished invitations for her Yule Ceremony and had sent them off with a fleet of rented owls.   
Lucius poked his head in, before stepping back as a few owls decided to escape that way. "Why not send them off in order of prioritization?" 

“Because then they _know_ they mean nothing to us, and everyone gets all huffy. And then fights break out, and the evening is ruined.”   
“It’s better than having to converse with Fudge.”  
“ _You_ got him into office.”   
“You promised me 300 galleons if I could.” Lucius stood behind her, rubbing her back gently.

“Mm… true. Well, it’s not as though he could mess up _too_ badly.” Narcissa leaned into her husband, closing her eyes.   
“Well… he did send dementors to Hogwarts.”   
Narcissa’s eyes snapped open. “You’re saying this like you’re preparing to tell me our only son was eaten by those _things_.”

“Nothing like that, though given your sister and cousin, it’s a wonder they didn’t smell the Black family in his blood and attack.”   
“That’s not comforting, Lucius.”   
“Do you _want_ comforting?”

Narcissa slowly turned to see her husband smirking. “Lucius, were you using this as a prelude to sex? _Really_?”   
“You have no right to judge me, all of Platform 9 and ¾ saw you grab my ass.” Lucius laughed. “And no, I came in here to tell you I just received a letter from Hogwarts.”

“Draco? What is he doing writing a letter at this time of night?” Narcissa demanded.   
“Not Draco. Hogwarts.” Lucius slid a letter in front of her. Narcissa reached for her razor-sharp letter-opener, before scanning the contents of the letter.   
“Has Draco done exceptionally well?” Lucius remarked airily.

Narcissa wordlessly handed the letter to him.   
“Oh.” He said a few moments later.   
Narcissa was silent for a moment, before saying softly, “It wouldn’t take much to ruin the Weasleys now, would it?”   
“They have nothing left but their reputation.” Lucius agreed.   
“Not Arthur and Molly. If we push too hard, it could backfire on us. And I want them to know it was because they _dared_ to hurt my baby.”

“Narcissa… the girl is twelve.”   
“I don’t care. I’m going to destroy her.”   
Lucius pursed his lips. “Narcissa, Draco wasn’t really hurt—”   
“It should never be a case of hurt _enough_ with us, Lucius. If it was anyone else she had challenged, I would respect Ginevra Weasley. But not Draco. Never Draco. Now shush, I’m thinking about how to best destroy a twelve year old girl.”

“ _Narcissa_. Do you hear yourself? I _know_ she’s a Weasley, but for Frigga’s sake. You can’t fight all of Draco’s battles.”   
“She fought our _family_ , Lucius! This isn’t just about Draco anymore, it’s that she _dared_ to do so!”   
“Narcissa, we don’t even know what they were fighting about.”   
Narcissa seemed to consider this, before standing up. “Then let us get dressed and find out.”

“Narcissa, it’s the middle of the night. Hogwarts lets out in two days, surely it can wait?”   
Narcissa huffed petulantly. “No, Lucius. It cannot. This must be dealt with _immediately_. And I must be there.”   
“Narcissa…”   
“This is for _Draco_ , Lucius. Besides, I’ll just look like a hysterical parent barging in alone.”

“And with me you’ll look less hysterical? Either I’d be there as your husband, or as a school governor.”   
“A school governor displeased with students out of bed and dueling.” Narcissa batted her eyelashes at him. “Please?”   
“I hate how you taught Draco how to do that.” Lucius sighed, before offering her his arm.

A few minutes later, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy floo’d into Dumbledore’s office.   
“Professor Dumbledore, I demand to speak with you this instant!”   
Grindelwald poked his head out, before he and Dumbledore exited the bedroom.   
“What’s all the fuss?” Dumbledore asked sleepily.

“Our son was in a duel, apparently.” Lucius said smoothly.   
“And there is a _murderer_ right there!” Narcissa pointed at Grindelwald accusingly.   
Grindelwald looked around, before his eyes settled on Lucius. “Your marriage must be awful if every time your husband enters the room you start shrieking about the Muggles he’s killed.”   
Lucius’ mouth was a thin line. “I was under the influence of the Imperius curse.”   
“No you weren’t.” Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “Stop lying.”

Lucius’ hand curled tighter around his cane, and Narcissa glared at Grindelwald. “My husband isn’t like _you_.”   
“Correct. I was a leader, he was a follower.”   
“Gellert.” Dumbledore remarked gently as Narcissa’s eye began to twitch and Lucius’ grip tightened. “Please leave the school governor and Madame Malfoy alone.”   
“I doubt the rest of the school board would want to hear about your lover, Dumbledore.” Narcissa added.

“Is she threatening us?” Grindelwald asked. “That’s hilarious.”   
Dumbledore sighed. “Gellert, don’t antagonize Madame Malfoy. If I understand correctly, you knew both Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black quite well. Their children are more than capable of destroying us, without a qualm at that.”   
Grindelwald shrugged. “That remains to be seen, Albus. But you two didn’t burst in here at this time of night for _me_ , did you?”

“We are here because our son was in a duel. It was in the middle of the night, _yet_ half of Slytherin and Gryffindor were gathered out in public.” Lucius said coolly, taking Narcissa’s hand.   
“Clearly the school needs better guidelines, and better security.” Her face was now steeled into a cool mask of indifference. “And proper punishment for Draco’s challenger, of course.”   
“Especially given that last year she ran about petrifying Muggleborns with a basilisk.”

“Of course, if we punished Ginny, we’d have to punish Draco.” Dumbledore pointed out.   
Narcissa and Lucius stiffened simultaneously.   
“I don’t recall Draco being the challenger.” Narcissa hissed.   
“But he accepted. It could have ended there, and should have, seeing as he is older and should know better.”

“What was he meant to do—ignore a challenge like that? No proper wizard or witch could do so.”   
“Madame Malfoy, do you even know what Draco and Ginevra were fighting over?”   
“Does it matter?” Narcissa responded haughtily. “Imagine what that little… child… has done to my son!”   
“And imagine what he could have done to her. Madame Malfoy, Draco had apparently seduced Ginevra Weasley’s soulmate.”

Lucius scoffed. “What, Potter? After she has been running about with Astoria Greengrass trailing after her like a lost puppy? Dear me, can’t the great Albus Dumbledore tell a feint from a real move? No, Ginny Weasley seduced Astoria, and thus Draco struck back.”    
“He’s too subtle to be Abraxas’ son.” Grindelwald muttered.   
“You have no right to talk about my father.” Lucius growled.

“Ooh, touched a nerve?”   
“Lucius he’s not worth it. Leave him alone.” Narcissa said.  
“If he was insulting _your_ father, you would have cursed him by now!”   
“And _she_ is too angry for Cygnus. Though maybe it’s just that I pushed her buttons early.” Grindelwald then looked at Dumbledore. “Wait, Cygnus Black and Abraxas Malfoy share a descendant? At this school? I only met the boys as teenagers, but that was enough for me to realize they should never combine bloodlines.”

“Draco Malfoy isn’t as… destructive… as either of his grandfathers, or you would have heard about him by now.”   
“Given this... attachment…” Grindelwald gestured to the Malfoys, “I doubt that, but alright.”   
Narcissa growled, before steeling her face back into the mask. “Professor Dumbledore, I trust you will take actions to both ensure that the children placed under your care will remain safe, and to punish those who put the rest at risk. Should you fail to do this simple task; and quite honestly, I don’t have much faith in you, given that less than two months ago, you allowed _dementors_ near the Wizarding World’s most vulnerable population, we _will_ see to your removal.”

“As I recall, Lucius tried to see to my removal last year, with the attacks on the Muggleborns.” Dumbledore remarked. “I see no reason why it would triumph if it failed before.”   
“Because now it isn’t just Lucius trying to get rid of a menace. Each school governor has a child here, and it would be far better for them to lean against the idiot who put the Philosopher’s Stone here, surrounded by children as though that would stop any dark forces you were trying to lure here. You cannot take credit for the current safety of the students; they were saved by a twelve year old. A few months ago dementors lurked around the grounds, and a famed mass murderer actually got inside the castle. This is no isolated incident, Dumbledore. You are a fool, an old doddering menace, and your proximity to our children is a danger.”

“Not to mention I’ve heard whispers of reinstating the Tri-Wizard Tournament.” Lucius added silkily. “I trust you remember why it was ended before? What was it, exactly, Narcissa?”   
“One contestant froze in the wilds of the tundra, one was eaten by a Grindylow, and the third died in the middle of the second task by poison from the second contestant.” Narcissa smirked. “Hardly something children should be exposed to.”   
“I believe Mr. Malfoy knows that they were planning to raise the age restrictions?” Dumbledore mentioned.

“The fact remains that you are planning to send children up against beasts that Aurors would shudder at.” Lucius offered Narcissa his arm, and she took it, smirking.   
“Good night, headmaster.” Narcissa said as they strolled towards the fireplace in a stately manner.   
After they left, Grindelwald commented, “Now _that_ was entirely Cygnus Black and Abraxas Malfoy.”   
“I highly doubt Cygnus Black and Abraxas Malfoy ever went home together.”

Grindelwald shrugged. “I don’t pretend to know about their mating habits. What happened to them, anyway?”   
Dumbledore sighed. “Cygnus Black was killed by Aurors trying to stop them from entering his home, since they were after his daughter Bellatrix. She escaped out the window, and went on to do more terrible things. Narcissa Malfoy watched her father die. Abraxas Malfoy died eight years ago of dragon pox.”

“How unfortunate.” Grindelwald shrugged. “They seemed like such lively children. For Abraxas to be cut off in the bloom of his youth…”   
“He was quite old, especially to Muggles.”   
“Young. So young.”   
“Gellert…”

“Practically a baby, Albus.”   
“Gellert, I’m going back to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay yes, I did make several extremely overt references to Hamilton. I'm not going to apologize.


	15. In which Harry and Theodore have an Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo I actually updated quickly.

Harry waved at his friends as the train pulled out of the station.  
“Oi, Potter! Don’t forget to write!” Draco yelled at him out a window.  
“To your real friends!” Ron added from another window.

Harry laughed. “Write back, you sods!”  
The walk back to the castle was somewhat lonely. At the last minute all the Weasleys, as well as Hermione, Draco, and Astoria had been called back home. Apparently their brothers Bill and Charlie were back, having made trips to be with the family while Sirius Black was still prowling around. Now that it was safe again for the Weasleys to go home, they were traveling back to see their brothers.

As for Hermione, apparently she was called home to see an aging, infirmed aunt. According to Hermione, the woman was incredibly stubborn and sharptongued, and she didn’t even want to visit her that much. Harry privately thought she was lucky it was just that.

Both Greengrass sisters had returned home, though Harry wasn’t entirely sure why. The entire conversation had been conducted in Swiss German. At least some of the Gryffindors, and dare he say it, the Slytherins, were staying.

“Have a nice time?” Theodore remarked as Harry entered the Great Hall.  
“Theodore—!”  
“Oh, you weren’t expecting to see me?” Theodore gave him a dimpled smile, dark curls swinging about his face. “Rude, Harry.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.”  
“I… well, I find it easier to associate with book characters. They don’t tend to judge. Why can’t you just be a book character, Harry Potter?” Theodore asked shrewdly.  
“I… what would they write about?”  
“Oh, anything, I suppose.”

“Specific, Theo.”  
“I am, aren’t I?” Theodore gave him a small smile.  
“You should maybe be a writer.”  
Theodore frowned. “I… no. I can’t. Things are expected of me, Harry.”

“That sounds odd, but okay.”  
“I suppose it does, doesn’t it? The fact is, certain things are expected of me. And Draco. And Astoria and Pansy and maybe Blaise. And… should the Dark Lord return… even more would be expected of us, even if we don’t want it. Please understand, Harry. I don’t want to hurt you, or any of my friends in Gryffindor. I don’t want to hurt anyone. So, if it comes to it, I’m sorry.”

“You’re a child, Theodore.”  
“You are too. The Dark Lord won’t stop to look at our ages, Harry. He’ll just… he’ll continue killing and hurting people and r… until he’s gone for good.”  
“Would you consider becoming a turncoat?”  
“If I knew that my mother or Pansy would be okay if I did.”

“What about your father?”  
“Cantankerous is a good man. He’s raised me like his own. Yet, he is a faithful follower of the Dark Lord. And for that, my mother was rewarded with me.”  
“I don’t understand.”  
Theodore looked rather tired, and shut his book. “You wouldn’t. It doesn’t matter, Harry.”

“If you’re sure.”  
“Of course. Now, in a few hours, Draco will write us both, likely telling us we had better come to his family’s Yule Celebration if we don’t want him to throw a tantrum. Tell me, can you dance?”  
“No?”  
“Excellent, it won’t be another year of being thrown to the wolves.” Theodore smirked. “While we wait, do you want to show me the Chamber of Secrets?”

Harry blinked at him rapidly. “Is… is that an innuendo?”  
Theodore shook his head. “Far be it for me to earn the wrath of Ginny Weasley.”  
“What do you want with the Chamber?”  
“I want to test something.”

“Is this about Sir Hiss?”  
“No. It’s just about seeing where I stand on the scale of ‘heir to Slytherin’. After all, _two_ Gryffindors already outrank me.”  
“But no Sir Hiss?” Harry asked uncertainly.  
Theodore smiled. “With all due respect Harry, I don’t feel comfortable working up to a basilisk yet. I’m hardly a Gryffindor.”

Harry stood, and Theodore followed. “You’re a Parselmouth?”  
“Never really had a chance to see.”  
They soon reached Myrtle’s bathroom. “Back for round t…” Myrtle trailed off upon seeing Theodore.  
“Hi!” Harry waved. Myrtle ignored him. “Tom… you’re back.”

“I’m not Tom. I’m Theodore.”  
Myrtle shook her head. “No, no. You’re Tom. You look just like him.”  
Harry frowned. “He’s not, Myrtle. Theodore’s not like that.”  
“True, I am Nott.” A smile briefly flitted across Theodore’s face, before he sobered.  
Myrtle gave a small sob. “No, no, he’s _not_. He’s not a bit like that nasty Nott boy who called me Mudblood and-and… you look just like my Tom.”

Harry was quickly beginning to understand what Theodore had meant by Voldemort ‘rewarding’ his mother with him. He took a step back, and both Theodore and Myrtle looked at him.  
“You’re the heir of Slytherin. The real one.” Harry breathed.  
Theodore shrugged. “Not necessarily. I _am_ a bastard.”  
“You’re the son of the heir of Slytherin.”

“So. He found some other girl then.” Myrtle said quietly.  
“He found a great deal of women, miss. Some more willing than others, all of them different, but for the fact that they were pure-blooded and had soulmates of their own.” Theodore said quietly.  
“It’s because I died, isn’t it?”  
“More like because he was an awful, awful man.”

Myrtle’s eye twitched, and behind her a sink exploded. “Don’t you dare say that about my Tom!”  
“If you knew what he’d done, you wouldn’t be so quick to call him yours!” Theodore hissed.  
Harry tugged on Theodore’s sleeve. “We need to go—”  
“ _No_. I need to see that Chamber, Harry James Potter. There might be one more reason down there for him to kill me.” Theodore growled.

Harry stepped back, wand drawn. For a moment he had thought he was back in the Chamber, Tom Riddle furious and trying to kill him. Or back in first year, where once again, under a different name and another person’s power, Voldemort had been furious and tried to kill him. This seemed to be rather a pattern.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Harry.” Theodore said softly.  
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”  
“I am _not_ Tom Riddle, or any of his aliases.”  
“I would believe you. I would. But you’ve just tried to get me to take you down to a place where no one would ever find my body. You just resembled Voldemort so greatly, I… Theodore, I trusted you.”

“And you still can. Please, Harry.” Theodore was just a range of emotions today. Right now he looked regretful, and sorrowful.  
Harry shook his head slowly. “Not right now.”  
“Harry Potter, I’m not trying to hurt you. All I did was shout a bit.”

“You reminded me of your father. That’s enough for me to realize that I never should have trusted you.”  
Theodore scowled. “I am _nothing_ like him. True, I started reading those books to distinguish that, but they’ve helped me learn and grow. They’ve helped me aid Draco in the same. I’m not my father, Harry.”  
Harry slowly exhaled, unaware he’d been holding his breath. “Unless that’s just a mask you wear, and it just cracked.”

Theodore sighed. “No, I… I’m not him. I’m not. I’ll swear any oath, I’ll even break into Snape’s potions’ store with you to get Veritaserum. But you cannot blow up with suspicion every time someone yells at you.”  
“It wasn’t that. It was that you looked so like Tom Riddle doing it.” Harry hissed.  
Theodore flinched as if struck. “I… I… I’m sorry. I don’t usually… I’m not him. I swear.”

Harry nodded slowly. “I’ll believe you. But, if I ever catch you doing something that would make him proud… well, it’s a bit hard to be friends with a corpse.”  
“You’d kill me?” Theodore whispered.  
“If you were killing or torturing someone else, yes.”

“But not if I just get angry?”  
“Well, we can’t help that. But I won’t hurt you after you do it, even though I might be slightly wary of you for the next few days.”  
Theodore raised an ebony eyebrow. “Believe me, Potter. You’re welcome to your suspicion, though you are rapidly approaching levels of the famed Mad-Eye Moody.”

“Who?”  
“Famous auror.” Theodore remarked flippantly. “So, may we still go down into the Chamber?”  
“Nothing’s done there.” Harry pointed out. “Sir Hiss is in the Forest.”  
“Harry, it is called the Chamber of _Secrets_. Not the Chamber of a Basilisk or the Chamber of Only One Secret.” Theodore said patiently.  
Myrtle giggled, and Theodore turned to face her. “Alas, dear lady. While I feel bad for you, I have a soulmate of my own. Pansy Parkinson. She keeps me grounded in reality, she has an excellent tactical mind… I truly feel even now that I would be lost without her. Regardless, if I did not have Pansy, and should you be alive and my age, I would definitely consider pursuing you like the treasure you are.”  
Myrtle blushed. 

Harry blinked rapidly. He didn’t feel that way about Ginny. Well, alright, he did notice that she was really smart—she was picking up Parseltongue quite quickly, and Harry knew from a few disastrous French classes in primary that languages were hard—and really good at spells and dueling, and really brave, but he didn’t feel _lost_ without her.  
“Shall we?” Theodore offered Harry his arm, and Harry opened the Chamber.

A few moments later, Theodore raised an eyebrow at Sir Hiss’ shedded skin. “Where’s the rest?”  
“What?” Harry asked.  
“Harry, no snake only sheds once in its lifetime, unless it has a very short life.”  
Harry nodded, before pressing the Slytherin forth. He was beginning to grow a bit tired of the “Harry, such and such a thing is false.” Conversation that Theodore was intent on. He was as bad as Hermione was sometimes, though a good deal odder.

“Well, here’s the Chamber.” Harry said, pointing to the full statue of Salazar Slytherin.  
Theodore was quiet for a few minutes. “So… want to climb it?”  
Harry stared at him. “No. I don’t. Because that would be insane, Theodore.”  
“You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you?”  
“Yes, but even I know enough to realize we should use Ascending charms.” Harry huffed.

Theodore nodded slowly. “Yes… that’s a good deal safer… I’m proud of you, Harry. That was a smart answer.”  
Harry raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like you weren’t expecting me to come up with a smart answer.”  
Theodore tapped his chin with his finger pensively, yet said nothing.  
Harry rolled his eyes, but sent Theodore rocketing towards the statue’s face, before he launched Harry up with him.

“Now what?”  
Theodore slid into Slytherin’s open mouth, and Harry sighed, before following. He supposed this was how Ron and Hermione must always feel. At least he told them what he was going to do.  
Harry and Theodore ended up in another corridor, wide enough for them to walk side by side. A few minutes later, they came to the edge of a pit, the floor of which was covered with Sir Hiss’s shedded skins in various sizes. Harry frowned as he realized that the pit wasn’t big enough to accommodate Sir Hiss without the basilisk curling up like a spiral anymore, and probably hadn’t been for quite some time.

“That answers that question.” Theodore peered over the edge of the vast pit. Harry grabbed the back of his robes, but nodded. “Poor Sir Hiss.”  
Theodore blinked at him. “But… it’s… it’s a massive pit.”  
“Did you see the size of the skin he left outside?” Harry asked calmly.

Theodore paled a bit, but nodded.  
“I know what it’s like to not have enough space to even sleep properly.” Harry said, before noticing a ledge around the side of the pit, leading to a door a few feet above their heads on the other side of the pit. “I think that’s what you’re looking for?”  
Theodore nodded again, and the two boys walked in single file across the ledge.  
Harry looked down at the pit, and sighed. He’d have to get an extra big treat for Sir Hiss, or his conscience would never allow it.

Ginny had said he was spoiling Sir Hiss, but Harry retorted that she pretended that he didn’t see her slipping the snake extra treats.  
It had devolved into an argument about who was spoiling their basilisk more, until Sir Hiss eventually got tired of their noises and pointed out that he was an adult basilisk who could make his own decisions, even if he did still want a steady supply of treats. And back-scratches.

 “Alohomora.” Theodore pointed his wand at the door, then sighed. “Parseltongue again.”  
“He does seem to have a real theme going on here.” Harry agreed, before saying, “ _Open_.”  
The door slowly drifted open, and revealed quite a cozy room, most of which was under a stasis spell.  
Theodore raised an eyebrow. “All this for a _man-cave_?”  
Harry shrugged. “Judging by Snape, this seems like the perfect place to get away from ‘dunderheaded children’.”

“Painting us all with the same brush, Potter?” Theodore smiled despite himself.  
“Painting all heads of your house with it.” Harry said, before staring at a painting of two men. One was obviously Slytherin judging by the statue, but the other was dressed in red with a pointy beard who looked a bit like Neville if Harry squinted. A quick sweep of the room revealed more portraits of the man in red, including a locket-sized one on the ground.

Theodore, meanwhile, removed the spell on one of the portraits. It started back to life, and the man in red grinned. Slytherin gave Theodore a sour look.  
The man in red said something in Old English, and Slytherin replied huffily.  
Theodore cast a translation spell while Harry looked around a bit. If this was the man in red’s room within Slytherin’s chambers, he was as bad as Lockhart.

“Can you understand me?” Theodore asked, snapping Harry’s attention back to the portrait.  
 “Who are you, and what are you doing in my private suite?” Slytherin immediately demanded.  
“Salazar, be nice.” The man in red chided.  
“Quiet, Godric. The painter obviously instilled qualities the real version doesn’t have in _you_.” Slytherin hissed.

“ _Which_ painter, Salazar? You have portraits of me everywhere.”  
“I… that doesn’t matter! You’re my nemesis, looking at you all the time inspires me to take you and your ilk down!”  
Gryffindor didn’t look as though he believed him. “Salazar, we’re soulmates.”  
“You revoked that title when you started choosing the Mudbloods over me!”

“Even though you like to pretend I am a pureblood adopted by muggles, I _am_ a Mud--!”  
“This is pleasant.” Harry said.  
Gryffindor cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. I’m Godric Gryffindor, and this is Salazar Slytherin.”  
“How did you get in here? Who are you?” Slytherin asked brusquely, crossing his arms.  
“We walked.” Harry replied.

Slytherin narrowed his eyes. “If you were one of my students, I’d have tanned your hide by now.”  
Harry set his jaw. “Luckily, I’m in Gryffindor, not Slytherin. My mortal nemesis, who I have sworn to destroy, _is_ in Slytherin though. I suppose the quality of wizards you produce is down.”  
Theodore pinched him, and Slytherin looked annoyed as well.

Gryffindor sighed wistfully. “Having a nemesis is a wonderful experience, my young man. Would this be him?”  
“I’m his son.” Theodore sighed.  
Gryffindor scowled. “Salazar, how old do these children appear to be?”  
“Too young to make into satisfactory potions?”

“ _No_. But one should always have a nemesis close to one’s age.”  
“Maybe the boy didn’t mean it like we do.” Slytherin pointed out. “And no one has yet introduced themselves. Godric, these children are exceedingly rude. Hogwarts has really gone to the dogs without me. I only hope my precious Ouroboros is well fed.”  
Gryffindor scowled at him, and Harry asked, “Who is Ouroboros?”

“My basilisk. He’s right out there.” Slytherin pointed to the door.  
“Right, except none of what you just said is true. For instance, he belongs to my soulmate, and he lives in the Forbidden Forest. His name is Sir Hiss.” Harry said.  
“Sir _Hiss_? What sort of infantile name is _Sir Hiss_?”  
“It’s an homage.”

“It’s _stupid_. You, did you let him do this?”  
Theodore shook his head, before reaffirming. “I’m Theodore Nott, son of your current Heir.”  
Slytherin straightened, while Gryffindor frowned.  
“Yes. Well, it’s good of you to come, even if your little friend is an awful little Gryffindor.” Here Slytherin nudged Gryffindor rather sharply in the ribs.

“Sir, would I… could I still be considered your heir if I am a bastard?” Theodore asked.  
Slytherin frowned, yet this one seemed more pensive. “It depends. Does your father have any legitimate children?”  
“No sir. He killed his soulmate. And never married, but...”

A silence fell over the four of them.  
“Salazar…” Gryffindor finally breathed. “I am beginning to worry about your Heir.”  
“It was… it was probably an accident. He couldn’t… clearly the incident left him distraught.” Slytherin said.  
“Not that distraught, since he went on murdering everyone.” Harry huffed. “Including my parents.”

“Let me guess, both Mudbloods?” Salazar asked. "Or worse, Muggles themselves?"   
Gryffindor pinched Slytherin. “That’s no excuse, Salazar.”  
“Tch… fine. But I refuse to believe my blood has become tainted with evil on the word of a rude Gryffindor brat. I didn’t marry that woman after your rejection for _nothing_ , after all.”

“It has been a thousand years.” Theodore pointed out. “You’re sure to have some bad eggs.”  
“Not of my _blood_.” Slytherin huffed.  
Gryffindor raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you get Ouroboros with the intention of having him run about murdering defenseless children?”  
Slytherin rolled his eyes. “Oh yes. Like I intended to murder you down here? Like I intended to start a competition with Durmstrang and Beauxbatons? Like I intended to curse the job so the school could never have a headmaster again?”

“So you admit you are mostly full of hot air?”  
Theodore leaned uncomfortably close to Harry. “You know when your grandparents are flirting and it’s kind of awkward because you feel a bit like you weren’t meant to see this?”  
“Theodore, I’m an orphan.”

“Right, but you know what I mean right? Because I’m getting serious grandparents-flirting feelings watching these two go at it.”  
Harry frowned in concentration for a moment, before asking, “Like Dumbledore and Grindelwald?”  
“Exactly.”  
“Did you find out what you came here to?”

“No. He just deflected and they went off at each other again. I’m beginning to feel bad for Madames Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.”  
“I’m beginning to see why you needed a Gryffindor, instead of a Slytherin who would sit politely and wait for them to finish because that might aid in the growth of whatever plan you had.” Harry said, before clearing his throat and channeling his inner Ron or Seamus. “Oi! You two! Stow it!”

“Rude brat.” Slytherin huffed.  
“Did you need us?” Gryffindor asked.  
“You never answered my question, if I could be considered your heir, sir Slytherin.”  
“Well, of course.” Slytherin shrugged. “You’re of my blood, and obviously the Gryffindor isn’t the parselmouth.”  
“Actually—”

“That’s all it takes?” Theodore interrupted. “Being of your blood and a parselmouth?”  
“No, it also depends on how many potential heirs there are. The magic I laid upon my son ensured that legitimate children would be chosen over bastards.” Gryffindor nudged him, and Slytherin continued. “Er… sorry.”  

“No, no, it’s alright.” Theodore smiled. “I don’t want to be, anyway.”  
Slytherin’s eye twitched. “Now I know why you’re hanging out with the Gryffindor brat.”  
“Is there anything special about being the Heir, anyway?” Harry asked.  
“You can control Ouroboros.” Slytherin said stiffly.

“Anything else? Seems like your stuff is all in here.” Harry pointed out, tactfully failing to mention that the basilisk was named Sir Hiss, and said basilisk was no longer a mindless weapon, and more importantly, that that was a _good_ thing.  
“As a matter of fact, you rude little brat, there is.” Slytherin growled. “But it is hardly for the ears of a Gryffindor!”  
Gryffindor rolled his eyes. “Why?”

“You’re too stupid to understand its significance!”  
Gryffindor narrowed his eyes, before saying in a lighter voice, “Oh, Salazar, you’re so right. I’m just a silly Gryffindor, what could I know about the world? I barely even know that what you want to bequeath is likely a map or deed to Hogwarts itself! After all, wasn’t the reason that we silly witches and wizard let you be headmaster?”  
Slytherin growled at him, but gave a tight nod. “Godric is correct. I own, or at least I _did_ own, the land Hogwarts rests upon. The Chamber is far older than me, but _I_ changed it from being used as the family crypt. As such, I, and my Heir, should be able to actually create a map of the castle or even wrest it back.”

“Are you telling me Lord Voldemort could get Hogwarts because he has the _deed_ to it?” Harry demanded.  
“Not exactly… he has the land upon which it rests, but not the castle itself.” Gryffindor shrugged. “That was split between the rest of us, and we all left it to the school.”  
“The land upon which it rests and the castle isn’t much of a distinction.” Theodore said in a tone that Harry felt was far too amicable for this information. “Unless the castle could up and fly away?”

Gryffindor laughed. “You’ll want to talk to Rowena for that!”  
“She was in charge of defense measures.” Slytherin agreed.  
Gryffindor sighed. “And _why_ was there a need for defense measures?”  
Slytherin scowled. “Godric, it was one little war with Durmstrang.”

“We nearly ended Wizarding Britain!”  
“ _Yes_ , but in the end, we got the centaurs to live peacefully in our forest.”  
“ _Helga_ got the centaurs. You stood on top of the Astronomy Tower and screamed to the sky that they’d never take you alive, then began cackling madly until you were sure they were gone.” Gryffindor laughed.  
Slytherin scowled fondly at Gryffindor, before pulling him into a kiss.

Harry and Theodore waited patiently for them to finish, then Theodore smiled. “Thank you both for your help, and have a nice day!”  
Harry reinstalled the stasis spell. Or at least, tried to. (Truth be told he had no idea how to cast a stasis spell.)  
Slytherin scowled at him. “We’re not going back to that. We _demand_ that you take us and place us in the hall to correctly monitor students.”

“What are they going to do, Salazar? Run about setting fire to the tapestries?”  
“Fine then, the headmaster’s office! We _must_ manage him!”  
Harry paused for a moment, before pulling Theodore over to the side. “I think we should do it.”  
“What? Why?”

“So that if need be, we have a spy within Dumbledore’s office.”  
“Slytherin won’t talk to you.”  
“But Gryffindor will. And Gryffindor has a whole bunch of portraits for us to use.” Harry said.  
“Why do you want to spy on Dumbledore?”  
“I don’t trust him.” Harry said simply. “Not since he refused to get rid of Grindelwald. Other things are clicking into place as well, like why hasn’t he updated the wards in years? Why did he leave me with the Dursleys? Why did he leave Sirius Black in Azkaban? He is fighting for the greater good, but it’s one that he defines. I will be his ally, but not his friend.”

“A Slytherin approach, Harry. Personally, I agree with the idea of spying on one’s friends. I have exactly three charms specifically on _you_ to that effect.”  
Harry started, and Theodore nodded. “Yes. A tracking charm, a charm to relay audio to a radio where I keep my recordings, while searching for buzzwords of course, and one to make the other two undetectable.”  
Harry stared at his friend. “Theodore, that’s one of the oddest things I’ve ever heard you say.”  
“Well, that’s a bit rude. You’re the one who wants to give Professor Dumbledore a portrait of Godric Gryffindor to spy on him.”  
“I don’t exactly _trust_ Professor Dumbledore. I like him, as I implied I think of him like a grandfather. But I _cannot_ trust him, Theodore.”

“Well, you _used_ to trust him. After all, I trust you, yet today you pointed your wand at me. That was rude.”  
“I don’t have tracking charms on Dumbledore.”  
“That’s for your own safety. Besides, it’s not _just_ you. Draco’s been my guinea pig for surveillance for years. He’s never realized. See? I’m being a nice and good friend by telling you.”  
Harry stared at Theodore for a moment, before deciding that as it was Theodore, this was what passed for normal in his mind.

“Who else do you have it on?”  
“Who _don’t_ I have it on is a better question.” Theodore said.  
Harry sighed. “Alright, let’s get the portrait to Dumbledore’s office before we devolve into a fight.”  
“Or they do.” Theodore remarked lightly.

It took both of them to carry the portrait to the statue’s mouth, and then they paused.  
“You go first.” Theodore told Harry.  
Harry shrugged. “Gladly.” He jumped off of the statue’s lower lip, before casting a small hover charm. He hung in mid-air for a moment, before releasing himself onto the ground. Theodore did the same, and the boys floated the portrait down before exiting the chamber.

“So, just take them up to Dumbledore?” Theodore asked.  
“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. “No point in letting them be nicked by Peeves, is there?”  
“True.”  
Harry paused, before hefting the portrait so he came eye to eye with Gryffindor. “Would you mind telling us if Professor Dumbledore does anything particularly suspicious, or if he is withholding information from us?”

“How can we leave the portrait?” Slytherin demanded.  
“You have a monopoly on pictures of Godric Gryffindor. We can borrow one.” Harry shrugged.  
“We’ll take good care of it.” Theodore added.

“Where will you put me?” Gryffindor asked.  
“In the Gryffindor common room, where you belong. No one will ask any questions.” Harry pointed out.  
“Going off and finding the lost portrait of Gryffindor does seem like a very Potter-ish thing to do.” Theodore agreed.

With that, the boys shuffled the painting off to Dumbledore’s office, before pausing briefly.  
“Harry, do you know the password?” Theodore whispered.  
“No.” Harry whispered back.  
“Oh, for the love of Freya, turn me _around_ so I may face the gargoyle.” Slytherin hissed.

Theodore and Harry obeyed.  
“Now listen, you wretch. I am Salazar Slytherin, headmaster of Hogwarts first and forevermore. Let me in.”  
The gargoyle yawned. “Not headmaster any longer, are you?”  
Slytherin’s eye twitched. “I _knew_ I shouldn’t have had Godric charm you!”  
Both the gargoyle and Gryffindor raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you specially ask him to do it?” The gargoyle asked.  
“Because you’re terrible at Charms and Rowena and Helga were busy?” Gryffindor finished.  
Slytherin sulked. “You’re going to drive me mad forever, aren’t you?”

“That’s what being soulmates is, eh?” Gryffindor nudged Slytherin. “What do you say, Greg? Let us in this one time?”  
The gargoyle paused, before the door opened to Dumbledore’s office.  
Harry knocked on the wall as best he could, before Slytherin demanded he get on with it.  
“Enter.” Dumbledore called.

Harry and Theodore carried in the portrait, noticing Grindelwald lounging on Dumbledore’s desk.  
“Harry, my boy, always a pleasure to see you.” Dumbledore smiled. “And Mr. Nott, I’m glad to see you’re engaged in more productive activities than the last time you were here. Now, what is this?”  
“We found a portrait of Slytherin and Gryffindor, and since Slytherin said he was the first headmaster, he deserves to hang up here with the rest.” Harry said.

“I deserve it moreso than anyone else.” Slytherin agreed. “Turn me around, Gryffindor brat.”  
Harry and Theodore acquiesced, and Slytherin glowered at the room. “You changed the carpet.”  
“After a thousand years, it was a little threadbare.” Dumbledore shrugged.  
Slytherin huffed. “Yes, well, after _that_ , you could hardly let it stay, could you? Now, please place me on the wall.”

“Ooh, he said please.” Gryffindor said. “You better do as he says.”  
Slytherin huffed again, but remained silent as Dumbledore lifted the painting up.  
“Where did you find this?” Grindelwald asked.  
“In the Chamber of Secrets.” Theodore said immediately.

“Slytherin had a bunch of Gryffindor, but they were all in stasis.” Harry added. “We planned to take another portrait of Gryffindor and put him in our common room.”  
“None of Madames Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?” Dumbledore asked. “I only ask since one might find their disappearance… jarring.”  
“I had far better things to do than create portraits of them.” Slytherin scoffed. “If Rowena and Helga had a portrait, or _portraits_ , then they were not in my care.”

“Check the Come-and-Go room.” Gryffindor advised. “Helga loved that place as much as Salazar loved his Chamber.”  
“It is right to have pride in your work.” Slytherin hissed, though he puffed up his chest in pride hearing his Chamber mentioned in the same breath as Helga’s marvelous room.  
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “We most certainly will. Thank you boys, for bringing two of the founders back to us.”

Harry nodded, smiling back, and Grindelwald rolled his eyes, before drawing Dumbledore into a rough kiss. “Too sentimental, Albus.”

Harry and Theodore realized that their conversation had come to an end and crept out of the room.  
They retrieved the portrait of Gryffindor and set it up in the common room, before returning to the Great Hall. To their surprise, two annoyed owls were waiting for them.

One of them was Draco’s eagle owl, carrying two letters. The other was a tiny owl that pecked Harry’s hand when he retrieved his letter. Theodore eyed him suspiciously, but Harry opened the tiny owl’s letter first. Draco’s owl, while enormous, seemed much more composed.

_‘Prongslet—_

_I know you may not want to help me but please please please. Narcissa Malfoy invited me and Moony to her Yule thing, and I couldn’t turn her down! And then she somehow wrangled me into bringing an heir ‘unless everything will be going to your darling nephew Draco of course’. She’s worse than my mother with Reg, honestly! Moony says the kid isn’t so bad, but considering he came from my ‘darling’ cousin's twat and her Death Eater husband, that's highly doubtful._

_But anyway, I kind of told her you’d be there as my heir, so please? I’ll give you a ~~fuckload~~ ~~shitload~~ bunch of chocolate frogs! Besides, what are you doing for Yule anyway? _

_Got to go (please feed the little owl, he was giving me a nasty look but I was in a rush)_

_Love,  
Padfoot (S. Black)’ _

Harry blinked in surprise, and Theodore passed him the other letter. “Nasty bird.”  
The little owl was now attempting to bully Theodore into giving him the promised treats.

“Behave yourself.” Harry told the owl.  
It screeched at him and attempted to peck at his finger. Harry hissed something rude at it in Parseltongue, then opened Draco’s letter.

‘ _Potter—_

 _Writing this from the train, it has come to my attention that you did not receive a proper invitation to my family’s Yule Celebration. Obviously, this simply will not do. I intend to have as many friends by my side as possible to fend off;_  
   
_a) aunties who want to pinch my cheeks and give me kisses (at least my mother’s sisters are gone),_  
 _b) girls and boys who seek a match with me because their soulmate cannot satisfy their dreams of wealth (don’t tell anyone but I have had at least five offers already! Mother says it is a good sign),_  
 _c) hoodlums and miscreants (there’s always one or two (like Sirius Black or even Theodore in a mood) ),_  
 _and d) bad jokes/ill humor/lulls in the conversation._

_Theodore, and Blaise, as well as Vince and Greg (if they don’t sneak off to a corner to snog like last time!!) will brief you on it if you need further information. Dress in your finest robes, you will no longer be hobnobbing with firsties and Gryffindors (for the night at least). Dinner will be served there, so don’t eat beforehand! Theodore did last year, and it was quite unfortunate!_

_There will also be singing, so don’t embarrass me by sounding like a frog. The event will take place on December 24 th, starting at 7pm. You, as well as Theodore, Blaise, Vincent and Greg, are welcome to spend the night._

_Sincerely,  
D. Malfoy. _

_P.S. If you wish to bring me, Mother and Father a present, it would be well received. Just saying.  
P.P.S. You may think I’m being rude by not inviting your Gryffindor friends but Weasley (and Sheasley) and Longbottom are busy, and Granger said something about a Christmas dinner (what is ‘Christmas’?). So, I’m not being unfair, alright??’ _  

“Fond of parentheses, isn’t he?” Harry commented. “And how do you people not know what Christmas is?”  
“Christmas is a Muggle thing.” Theodore shrugged. “A lot of half-bloods and muggleborns celebrate it, so it’s _known_ here, but we have been using the Norse religion since the Vikings landed in England.”  
“I doubt the Vikings had _this_ in mind.” Harry gestured to the letters.

“So, are you going?” Theodore asked.  
“Of course. I couldn’t bear more parentheses.” Harry grinned. “But… what do Draco’s parents _like_?”  
“We need to go to Diagon Alley.” Theodore noted. “I don’t think Hogsmeade has everything we would want. Now here’s the thing; all three of them are classy people. They all like expensive, hand-crafted gifts. This does not mean handmade, they will hate you forever.”

Harry nodded, and Theodore continued. “Lucius Malfoy likes to collect dark artifacts, but of course you can’t give him that. He will accept and enjoy a bottle of the finest liquor you can find. This will be very expensive. However, even if the Potters’ vaults aren’t as resplendent as the Malfoy ones—”  
“I have _one_ vault, Theodore. _One_. And it has to last.”  
“You have _multiple_ vaults.” Theodore insisted. “You’re the last of the Potter line, which split years ago after the brothers had a falling out. Ergo, you have access to the Henry Potter vault, and you have access to the Charlus Potter vault. Given that you’re a direct descendant of the former, I’m guessing that’s the one you’re referring to. However, given that the man was a member of the Wizengamot, and your vault has been given interest, it should be more than sufficient to support you, even if you go about buying gifts.”

“How do you know that?” Harry demanded.  
“Pureblood genealogy is interesting.” Theodore shrugged. “Stories relating to it are also interesting. I feel a bit bad for Charlus, though. His wife died a few months before his brother went on his pro-Muggle tirade and kept the family from the Sacred 28. He liked your granddad though, or so I hear.”  
Harry felt a lump in his throat. His grandparents, and his great-grandparents, seemed real for the first time. He knew they had to exist, like his parents, but he craved hearing stories about them.

Theodore tapped Harry on the shoulder. “You alright?”  
Harry nodded. “Go on.”  
“Right, well, I think you know Draco well enough. This is critical; he has a small circle of good gift-givers. Narcissa and Lucius aren’t expecting you to do so well with them. I’m going to get him a new chess-set, which doubles as friendly teasing because I always win. Blaise is going to get him something extravagant. Vince and Greg are going to get him something thoughtful. What are you going to get him?”

“Er… Quidditch supplies?” Harry guessed.  
Theodore considered this. “Acceptable. He enjoys Kenmare Kestrels merchandise, and anything like gloves will please Narcissa since you show a regard for Draco’s safety. You’re going to have to buy various things for him though, one gift alone won’t stand out. Back to Narcissa; she likes beautiful things, and she likes being thought of as beautiful and smart. Which she is, but for every fur-trimmed cloak she’ll get, she only gets _one_ thing intellectually stimulating. She likes puzzles.”

“Alcohol, Quidditch, puzzles.” Harry listed off. “That’s it?”  
“That’s it.” Theodore agreed. “And thank them profusely. Actually, you should probably draft a thank-you already.”  
“I just got the message.”  
“Yes. Draft a thank you and RSVP that you will attend. They already think you’re inferior to them, do you want to prove them right, or do you want to smash their expectations of you?”

Harry paused, before sighing. “ _Dammit_. You’re right.” 


	16. In which Harry, Theodore, and McGonagall go shopping, and Snape loses his job

“Professor?” Harry knocked on McGongall’s door three times.  
It slowly swung open. McGonagall sat at her desk, sipping tea and reading the Daily Prophet as though it was a first year’s exceptionally poor work. She looked up from the newspaper briefly. “Mr. Potter, I wasn’t expecting you.”  
“Something came up.” Harry sat down in the chair in front of her desk.

“Ah, the portraits of Gryffindor?” McGonagall smiled. “Good job, Harry. I’m proud of you. Biscuit?” A tin containing chocolate-mint biscuits floated by his head, and Harry grabbed one, munching on it slowly. “Thank you professor, but I stopped by to say that the Malfoys are having a Yule Celebration this year, and they invited me.”  
McGonagall nodded. “And knowing Lucius Malfoy, it would do no good to refuse.”

“Exactly. And, I was wondering, could Theodore Nott and I go to Diagon Alley to get them Christmas presents?”  
McGonagall smiled behind her cup. “That is a very noble and polite gesture, Mr. Potter. However, you’ll doubtless want a present for each of your friends, and I don’t know how far my vault stretches in that regard.”  
Harry perked up. “I have a vault of my own.”

“Harry, you’re my responsibility. I can’t have you running about spending _your_ money.”  
Harry pulled the expression Draco had assured him worked well on parents. “Please? I know you’ll take care of me, and it’s extra money and I need a gift for most of them.”  
“Most, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall was smiling though.  
“I can’t give all of Gryffindor a Christmas present, Professor.” Harry grinned. “As for Slytherins, I think it will mostly be Draco and his parents.”

“Who I’m sure will cost more than the rest of Gryffindor.” McGonagall sighed, before nodding. “I will take you to Diagon Alley tomorrow, and we shall withdraw from _your_ vault at Gringotts to make any purchases.”

“Wait, what if I want to get _you_ a present?” Harry asked.  
McGonagall shrugged. “I will hardly leave you to wander the streets of Diagon Alley alone Mr. Potter, with or without Potter gold jingling in your pockets and attracting all manner of thieves and people of ill intent.”  
Harry nodded. That was entirely fair.

Somehow, Theodore Nott managed to join them, with the promise of good behavior.  
“And which vault will Mr. Potter, Professor McGonagall, and Mr. Nott be using today?” The Gringotts goblin asked.  
“The Charlus Potter vault.” Harry said.  
“And the Nott family vault.” Theodore added.

The goblin sneered at them. “The Charlus Potter vault hasn’t been active for years.”  
“But as the next blood heir it would pass to me.” Harry grinned.  
The goblin nodded a bit, before leading them to the cart.

Harry felt McGonagall pull him close, though he wasn’t sure if it was for his safety or hers. Finally, they stopped at Vault 704, disembarking shakily from the cart.  
“This was too easy.” McGonagall murmured.  
The goblin gave them a nasty grin. “Charlus Potter provided his own security. We haven’t even been able to access this vault ourselves, but apparently his blood heir can. Go on, stick your finger in.”

Harry glanced at Theodore, who shrugged. Sighing, Harry stepped to the door and stuck his index finger into the keyhole. Something pierced it, and he pulled it back abruptly. Just in time—the door began to swing open.  
The goblin retreated to the safety of the cart, while Theodore pushed Harry into the room. “In you go.”

“It’s pitch black!”  
“No, it’s partially the vault of _Dorea_ Black. Or at least it was. And you’re a wizard, use Lumos.”  
McGonagall’s mouth was a thin line. “Mr. Nott, kindly cease and desist. All three of us shall enter Mr. Potter’s vault at the same time. At the moment I don’t exactly trust Charlus Potter or his ‘protective measures’.”  
“At least he isn’t in the dragon-guarded vaults.” Theodore pointed out.

Harry stared at him as they walked in. “There are _dragons_ in here?!”  
Theodore nodded. “You’ll see.”  
The door swung shut behind them, and automatically they all lit their wands. In every corner, galleons and sickles glinted. There were numerous artifacts scattered around the room, including an ornate chair.  
“What was that about Charlus providing his own security?” McGonagall mused, before pushing the boys back. “Don’t _touch_ anything.”

She cast several spells to see if there was anything dangerous hiding in the darkness, and Harry turned to look at the room. In the corner, buried under a pile of knuts, was a cradle. Harry sidestepped the piles of coins, before displacing some of the knuts to better peer into the cradle. He could have _sworn_ he’d seen it before, but he wasn’t sure if it was a memory or a dream.  
“Mr. Potter, don’t--!” McGonagall called. It was too late, Harry’s free hand had accidentally brushed against the cradle. A scroll of parchment erupted from the cradle, and shook away a few knuts before turning into what looked like a howler.

“Who are you?” An old man’s voice demanded. “Thieves? Kidnappers? Grave robbers?”  
“No, we’re just here to get money for--!” Harry tried to cut it off, but the ‘howler’ continued. “How did you get in here?! Answer me boy, or I will rise from the dead and tan your hide!”

“I have Potter blood, and I’m the next heir!” Harry pointed out.  
“Ha! A likely story. And who would you be, in any case?”  
“I’m Harry Potter.” McGonagall and Theodore were now slowly heading towards him.  
“A thief _and_ a liar! I know my brother’s voice, and believe me, you are _not_ him!”

Harry blinked in confusion.  
“Henry Potter, commonly referred to as Harry Potter.” Theodore whispered. “Likely your namesake.”  
“I know I’m not! I’m Harry _James_ Potter, son of James Potter and Lily Evans!”  
“And who was this _James_ Potter?” The howler hissed.

“Son of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.” Theodore supplied. The howler seemed to ignore him, pressing closer to Harry. “Well? Who. Are. YOU!?”  
Harry repeated what Theodore said, and the howler backed off for a moment, apparently thinking. “What year is it?”

“I-It’s 1993.” Harry stammered. The howler seemed to consider this, before it let out a shrill whistle. A dozen other parchments rose from the stacks of money, and simultaneously combusted, leaving the first.  
“We’re the last of the Potters, boy.” The Howler whispered. “And our family name may never be what it once was. Our _vaults_ may never be what they were.”

Harry fidgeted. “Sir, with all due respect, I came in here to get Christmas presents.”  
“For who?”  
“Some of the Weasleys—Mrs. Weasley is really nice you know, my friend Hermione, the Malfoys, Professor McGonagall…” Harry trailed off.  
“Did you say the Malfoys?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry was beginning to wonder if he should even call this _thing_ a sir. Did it respond to concepts of gender? Was it like the diary? Who even knew.  
“Very well, Harry James Potter. Withdraw all you want from my vault, but it is up to you to restore our family’s name and power, after my idiot brother threw it all away.”

“What did he do?” Harry asked.  
“He passed pro-Muggle legislation, which kept the family from being included in the list of The Sacred 28, the purest of the pure.” Theodore whispered.  
The Howler sneered at Harry. “Never mind what he did. Only make sure that his name is all you carry from him.”

“I will uphold the family name.” Harry promised. The Howler seemed satisfied, so naturally it exploded in a puff of smoke.

Harry blinked a few times, before shrugging and stuffing galleons in his pockets.  
The goblin seemed a bit surprised to see them emerge, which Harry didn’t really want to think about. They continued to the Nott vault, which, true to Theodore’s word, had a dragon around it. The dragon, though once proud and still enormous, was a sickly white color with scars all over its body and cloudy eyes.

“We trained it to respond to pain.” The goblin explained.  
Harry shuddered, then looked back at Professor McGonagall. She wore her usual stern look and walked with purpose, though Harry could tell that she was as fond of the goblins’ actions regarding the dragon as he was. Theodore, disconcertingly, didn’t seem bothered at all.

Unlike Charlus Potter’s vault, the Nott vault visit was quick and efficient. Harry Potter and company were soon outside Gringotts, and thus Harry’s mad shopping dash began.  
The Malfoys (with Theodore) were easy enough. Cantankerous Nott had told Theodore the location of the finest mead makers in Britain, and it soon became apparent that they sold other liquors as well. Though this part of the plan did require McGonagall’s full compliance, as two thirteen year olds could hardly run off with a bottle of their finest (and most expensive) firewhiskey, no matter their names and families.

While McGonagall admittedly found the price of the whiskey high (especially for it to be given to _Lucius Malfoy_ ) yet after a few rounds of both Harry and Nott using their most persuasive arguments she was forced to relent. And place a silencing charm on both of them.

The children pouted, but for once, Harry seemed to be able to enjoy his childhood. The children were soon dashing off to the Quidditch supply store, where the staff fell all over Harry Potter. Harry, of course, had to be dissuaded from buying the new Firebolt for Draco by both McGonagall and Theodore, for the simple reason of Gryffindor’s continued placement in the lead of the Quidditch cup. He eventually settled on a Kenmare Kestrels scarf, a special edition platinum snitch (somehow faster than the usual gold, and wonderful for training), and new dragonhide gloves (lined with sheepskin, of course). He also got a Chudley Cannons scarf for Ron, and a new poster (signed by their seeker, who looked like a very sickly man in the poster if Harry was being honest). The same was done for Ginny with the Holyhead Harpies, though Gwennog Jones was actually in attendance for her signing.

They then proceeded to Flourish and Blotts, where Harry inquired after puzzles. He was provided with a large leather-bound book of Muggle word puzzles and Sudoku, of all things. Theodore looked it over, before pronouncing that should Narcissa Malfoy not be told of their Muggle origins, she would wholeheartedly enjoy all such puzzles. He then engaged McGonagall in a fascinating conversation about whether something could be transfigured into a plant such as wheat, despite the rule that food could not be transfigured.

Admittedly, she was distracted by the conversation, and thus did not notice that Harry had left the shop (though this must have been their intent all along). When she noticed that Harry was once again beside her, she noted her was carrying a bag from Madame Malkins. Given the boy’s caginess, she could only hope he hadn’t gotten her anything hideously fluorescent or otherwise unsuitable for anything but the floor of her closet. Harry bought an enormous tome for Hermione, something about rare plants for Neville, a new sketchpad and pencils for Dean Thomas, a jokebook for Fred and George, and a book that he hid from McGonagall (which turned out to be a book on controlled pyrotechnics for Seamus Finnegan, much to her horror).

Harry had also managed to find a book on Muggle culture for Arthur Weasley, which appeared to be accurate under both his scrutiny and McGonagall’s. “What to get Mrs. Weasley…?” He mused.  
McGonagall tapped her chin pensively. Whereas the Weasleys were more impressed with effort than money, unlike the Malfoys, there wasn’t exactly much time for Harry to knit a sweater, and he couldn’t leave food overnight like a deranged Father Christmas. Perhaps it would be best if, like the rest, Molly received a gift acquired through monetary means.

McGonagall recalled a proclivity for Celestina Warbeck, though she felt that wasn’t personal enough. “Perhaps new cookware, or knitting needles?”  
“Might shame her.” Theodore noted. “The Weasley family isn’t exactly well off.”  
Harry paused. A memory of Aunt Petunia and her friends was surfacing in his mind. “Do wizards have Tupperware?”  
Theodore shook his head, and McGonagall blinked quickly. “What is… Tupperware?”  
“You can keep food in it for a long time, and it’s sealed completely.” Harry answered. “Aunt Petunia liked to use them a lot for anything she didn’t think I deserved. Well, she was rubbish, but it’s a good idea.”

Thus they returned to Gringotts, changed their remaining money, and proceeded out into Muggle London, where they transfigured their clothes in an alley, and set off in search of a department store. They found one readily enough, and beyond several Tupperware tins, Harry got Mrs. Weasley an egg timer shaped like an egg hatching. Theodore was spellbound, while McGonagall was barely hiding her smile. It had been long since she’d been part of this world, of course, but a good deal of it wasn’t that odd to her.

“What is _that_?” Theodore asked, staring at a television screen. He poked it, yet the soap opera the department store had put on didn’t change.  
“That’s a television, Theodore.” Harry remarked patiently, before tugging him away. Theodore continued to gawk at a cash register, a barcode scanner, a security camera, an advertisement for some sort of lingerie (McGonagall clapped her hands over the boys’ eyes and hurried them by, guessing that Theodore’s awestruck expression was more due to puberty than curiosity), an escalator, an elevator, a young man with a bright purple Mohawk and a nose ring, a automatic door, and especially a microwave, in no particular order.  

“Muggles are _fascinating_.” Theodore breathed as they rested in the food court. Both boys had gotten hamburgers, while McGonagall had settled on pizza. Theodore then begged them to let him go to the bookstore while they were there, since the Muggle books he loved came few and far between. Harry, softhearted as usual, acquiesced. Theodore was soon staring at the nearest bookshop with the sort of awe and reverence only expected from Hermione.

“You can just… leave me here.” He finally said.  
McGonagall snorted. “I hardly think so, Mr. Nott. Hurry and choose a book.”  
Within forty-five minutes and thirty-nine seconds (not that Harry was counting) Theodore had collected a variety of Eva Ibbotson books starring either witches or ghosts, a few Nancy Drew books, a history book, ‘Art of War’ by Sun Tsu, several Goosebumps stories (such as “The Werewolf of Fever Swamp”), and a book on mechanical engineering of all things. Harry privately thought giving Theodore these casts of characters in tandem wasn’t exactly a smart idea for wizard-Muggle relationships, yet didn’t comment.

Eventually, both young wizards were soon sequestered back in Hogwarts with large amounts of wrapping paper. McGonagall had taken the opportunity of both children being distracted to get a few things for Harry’s first Christmas under her care, even if _that man_ would be there, lurking about and whispering things to Albus.

A few days later, everything packed up and hidden safely under beds for Christmas, (or Yule, as Theodore kept reminding Harry), Snape grabbed Harry’s arm and towed him into his office.  
“Sir, what is it?”  
“Do you recall my invitation to tea, or does your head resemble a sieve?” Snape hissed.  
“No, I just never had an exact time to visit you, and I don’t like going to your office for any reason.” Harry pointed out.

Snape hissed something Harry didn’t understand, before seating him roughly in front of his desk, proceeding to sit down in front of him, and stare at him.  
Silence fell over them for several minutes.

“Um… why am I here?”  
“That remains to be seen, Mr. Potter.” Snape drawled. “But for now, content yourself with the knowledge I’m not going to hurt you.”  
Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s not an answer. That specifically sounds like something you’d say as a set-up to get me to relax but then other people burst in and carry me away.”

“Potter, I would never let that happen. I swore an Unbreakable Vow to protect you.”  
“For something Unbreakable, you’re shit at it.” Harry mused.  
Snape scowled. “What are you blaming me for now, you miscreant?”  
“For singling me out in each class we’ve had to sneer at me and degrade me.”

Snape, characteristically, sneered. “I’m sorry it’s too much for our very _special_ Potter.”  
“Snape, you’ve been after me since our first class. I was taking notes on _your speech_ , not doodling. Did you think I didn’t notice your favoritism, and even then, how you single me out? Did it make you feel good to yell at a little boy?”  
Snape rolled his eyes. “You were hardly an infant, Potter. I was under the impression you could take some constructive criticism?”

“Well, certainly. If you can.”  
Snape narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”  
“I’m going to repay the favor you’ve given me; I’m going to tell you what I think about you, as _constructive criticism_.”  
“Potter, I hardly find comments about my hair constructive.”

“Just a moment, professor.” Harry interrupted. “It’s not school hours, correct? You’re not technically on the clock?”  
Snape made a sour face. “I suppose so.”  
“Excellent, I hope you won’t mind if I speak candidly then, even though I promise to omit my feelings on your hair. As Ron would say, what the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you?!”

“What do you mean?” Snape hissed. “Be specific, _Potter_.”    
Harry scowled. “Professor Lupin has told me that you knew my mother. He and Sirius Black have been trying to cajole me to spend time with them by telling virtually every tale about my parents that they know. You feature quite a lot in them.”  
“I would.” Snape growled.

“I’m not finished. I understand what they did to you. I understand what my father was to you.”  
“So you understand my actions.” Snape was pleasantly surprised.  
“Oh, no. Of course not. Your response to a childhood bully was to join a band of _terrorists_. That would have been bad enough, but I have also read the transcripts of Pettigrew’s trial. He listened a good deal more than you would have thought. For instance, he knows that you bargained with the Dark Lord for my father and myself to die, and my mother to be spared.” Harry’s voice dripped venom. “I believe we’ve gone _far_ beyond appropriate retribution for their actions.”  
Snape finally regained his senses. “I’m your _professor_ , Potter! You will treat me with respect!”

“I don’t believe I will. Because _then_ , when I finally arrived at Hogwarts, you decided to forgo any respect that you may have once had for my mother by treating her _child_ –well underneath the usual weight and height of his age group, but I doubt you stopped to look at that, did you?—like my father and his friends had treated you, as children themselves. It just wasn’t enough for you, was it? It wasn’t enough that you contributed to my parents’ deaths, it wasn’t enough that you still got away scot-free. You had to torment _me,_ since I was yet another reminder that she didn’t want _you_. Well, fair enough, that makes sense in your twisted mind, but I’m not the only child you’ve abused. You remember Neville Longbottom, don’t you? Terrible what happened to his parents. But not even _then_ could you treat a student outside of Slytherin with _decency_ , even though you rubbed elbows with those who tortured his parents into insanity. Tell me, did Frank Longbottom once sneer at you? Did Alice turn down a date to Hogsmeade? Or did you blame _Neville_ for _not being the Chosen One_? A child who lost his parents, who _your_ Dark Lord decided to dispatch _after_ doing away with me and my parents.”

“ _Enough_ , Potter!” Snape cried. “You have no right to judge me!”    
Harry sipped his tea. “No? Then who does? Because believe me, professor. You are _far_ from sinless. Do you honestly believe it’s enough for me to tell you just _this_ much? Do you imagine, just because you were in love with my mother, I would forgive you for everything? That I might name a child after you, because ‘there goes dear old Snape, what a _wonderful_ chap’? I’m _sorry_ , Professor, but your love for her was the sort of dark, obsessive love that one reads about serial killers having for their victims. You couldn’t _imagine_ she would pick somebody other than you, especially someone who had tormented you, but you proved her decision absolutely _correct_ in the end.”  
“I loved Lily with all my soul! You have no right to impugn that, you brat!” Snape screamed.

Harry stared back at him coolly, maintaining eye contact. “My father loved her too. The difference is that while he died for her, you contributed to her death. And you couldn’t even redeem yourself in her memory. I don’t even have enough liking for you to pity you.”  
“You idiot child, I was a spy for Dumbledore!”  
“The way that I heard it, you did so _after_ you ran to Voldemort and told him about the prophecy. I suppose even _you_ felt remorse, but was it enough, Snape? Did you think you would save my mother’s life in the end? Do you _really_ think you’re nothing like the rest, when all you’ve done is emotionally torture children supposedly in your care?  
Snape moved as though to strike him, then his hand hung in the air. “Get out.” He whispered, before roaring, “Get _out_!”

Harry, understandably, left. Snape sat at his desk with his head in his hands. He was unsure whether to wail to Heaven above and rent his clothing to express to Lily how he didn’t mean it that way. He was also considering taking two Calming Draughts in quick succession. What eventually happened was after drinking the Calming Draughts, he went to Dumbledore.  
After a few minutes of ranting, he finally just stuck the memory in the Pensieve. After a few minutes of viewing it Grindelwald (who went wherever Dumbledore did) left the memory and cackled. “I like that boy.”

“What would you have me do, Severus?” Dumbledore asked tiredly.  
“Punish him!” Snape growled.  
“Don’t do it.” Grindelwald said. “Followers of the Pretender deserve to be spat upon. A tongue-flaying from a teenager will keep him in his place and he will behave better.”  
Dumbledore sighed. “Harry does not have the authority to say such things to Severus, no matter how true they may be to him.”

“It is not true!” Snape hissed. “The little brat was taking things out of context!”  
Dumbledore looked sad, and Grindelwald laughed. “You’re an idiot, Death Eater. I admire the boy’s sense in calling you out on your cruelty. As long as it didn’t happen to _me_ , I would promote one who did such a thing in my army. It demonstrates an ability to think for oneself, and to _defend_. You harassed the boy for years, he is simply telling you he noticed.”

“Gellert, that’s wise of you.”  
“Also I hate the stupid Death Eater.” Grindelwald added. “Shoo, shoo.”  
Snape gave him a look of deep offense, before turning back to Dumbledore.  “Potter, like his father, is an arrogant little ass who would greatly benefit from several swats.”  
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot. Who put you in charge of children?”

“I will not stand here and be insulted!”  
“Good, go stand in the corner like a child and be insulted.” Grindelwald ordered.  
Dumbledore sighed. “Gellert, Severus, please act your age. While Severus is right to feel maligned, --don’t press him further, Gellert—perhaps some of Harry’s criticisms should be taken to heart. As such, I cannot punish him _and_ you—”

“You’re taking the little monster’s side!” Snape strode forward, before digging his nails into the wood of Dumbledore’s desk. “Just like his father, or the mutt! When they tried to _murder_ me, you didn’t speak a word against them! Attempted murder is a crime, even to you, correct?”  
“Severus, calm down. That situation was different, and I couldn’t let Remus—”  
“I don’t care about your precious Marauding Hooligans, and I _don’t_ care about your precious Potter! You have failed me for the last time, Headmaster! Discipline the boy!”

“I won’t, Severus. Harry has endured—”  
“I quit.” It was a whisper, but Hogwarts noticed. And when a teacher quits Hogwarts, they cannot come back lightly. Even if Snape regretted it (and who else would shelter him?) Hogwarts had felt the slights of its students. It had felt Snape join those who lurked in the shadows and burned for blood. It didn’t _want_ Snape, and now that it felt he was gone, not even Dumbledore could convince it to keep him. 

“Severus, you understand what this means?” Dumbledore sighed. “I know you spoke in anger, my boy, but… what’s done is done.”  
Snape swallowed. “I will go and collect my things.”  
As he swept out of the room, he heard Grindelwald ask, “Can I be head of Slytherin?”

Unfortunately, the next person Snape ran into was Harry (and Theodore, though Blaise was also soon to return to them with snacks). Snape leaned uncomfortably close to Harry, allowing the boy to smell his slightly rank breath. “So, Potter. It appears I have lost my job because of _you_. Satisfied?”  
Harry blinked rapidly. “I just wanted you to stop being a dick, Mr. Snape.”

Snape stared at his eyes –Lily’s eyes!—before drawing a shaky breath. The boy’s eyes held nothing but disgust. In this way, he supposed the child was right. Lily’s eyes would always be disgusted with him, though not just because he was a Death Eater. “You would address me as _professor_ , Potter!”  
“Alright, Professor Potter.” Harry replied.

Snape’s hand itched to finally backhand the boy. After all, what could stop him? He had already lost his job because of the little brat. The boy had questioned his love for Lily, and insulted him repeatedly. He had nothing to lose.

Harry didn’t cry, or whimper, or even stare up at Snape with a look implying the teacher had broken his last bit of trust. He just stared back defiantly, daring the ex-professor to do something more to him. Snape swallowed. He knew that look. And he knew the burning hatred in his eyes, _no, Lily’s eyes_ , far too well.  
“Are you done, Snape? Or would you like me to turn the other cheek, so they can match?” Harry asked, a red handprint blossoming on his left cheek.  
“I trust you’ve learned your lesson, Potter.” Snape sneered, fighting the urge to flee. He’d heard whispers of Minerva adopting the boy. If she found him…

“A new one. Aunt Petunia never aimed for the face, and Uncle Vernon preferred the back. But a lesson nonetheless; when you tell someone why they are nothing, they will blame you for losing everything. So hurt them first.” Harry answered. “Trust me, _Professor_. Should we meet again, I will adhere to this lesson.”  
Theodore lowered his book, something about witches with an unmoving cartoon-like picture of what appeared to be a relative of Bellatrix Lestrange’s, in rather intense make-up, petting an aardvark. “I think you should leave now, Blaise will be coming back soon and I hear McGonagall and Lupin approaching.”

Snape, having already been on the wrong side of the werewolf once, sped out of the room, as McGonagall, Lupin and Blaise all entered at the same time.  
“Mr. Nott, care to explain the mark on Mr. Potter’s face?” McGonagall demanded.  
“Snape came by, Snape didn’t have his job, and he blamed me.” Harry explained.

Lupin let out an almost feral growl before running off in the direction Theodore was pointing at.  
“Remus, no! Don’t give him anything he can use against you!” McGonagall ordered, before healing Harry’s cheek, kissing him on the head, and running off after Snape herself. “Severus Snape, you come back here _right now_!”

“So, did you get Draco anything for Yule?” Blaise asked.  
“I thought Italians were Catholic.”  
“The Muggles are. Technically, we’ve followed the Germanic religions since the fall of the Roman Empire, especially since the Lombardians came to power. Most of Wizarding Europe follows the same religion.” Blaise pointed out, grabbing some meat and cheese from the plate he’d brought and laying it on top of a slice of coarse brown bread.

“What about the Goths?” Theodore asked behind his book.  
Blaise sighed. “There were the _Visigoths_ , who sacked Rome…”  
Theodore lowered his book. “Close enough. Vampire Potter, what about you? What religion are you?”

“ _What_?”  Harry demanded.  
“I agree, you’re being outrageous, Theodore.” Blaise agreed. “Which is unfortunate, since _I_ am meant to be the outrageous one!”  
“Why are you calling me _Vampire Potter_?” Harry demanded.

“Well, you brought up the Goths…”  
“ _You_ brought up the Goths. _I_ brought up the Visigoths!” Blaise hissed.  
“Potato, potato.” Theodore noted.  
Blaise waved a bit of bread at him. “The battle to be more outrageous isn’t over. I’m just on my break right now.”

“…what?” Harry asked. “You mean you can turn _this_ off?”  
Blaise scowled, offended. “No, of course not. This is my personality, Potter. Don’t be rude.”  
Harry almost looked to Theodore for backup, but then remembered he was also extremely weird.

As for Severus Snape, he hadn’t felt such fear in years. He darted around a corner, only to come face to face with the werewolf. “How dare you strike Harry!” The werewolf growled. “You are a teacher, Severus. You should know better!”  
Snape sneered at the werewolf. “The little brat was obviously trained in the ways of the Marauders, _Lupin_.”

“He was raised by Lily’s sister!” Lupin shot back, crossing his arms. Snape was interested to note that the man seemed to shy away from violence.  
“Severus Snape!” Minerva yelled behind him.  
Snape immediately decided that the non-violent werewolf was much less intimidating than Professor Minerva McGonagall, and tried to rush Remus.

McGonagall shouted _Levicorpus_ , and Snape scowled as his own spell was used against him.  
“What the Devil is going on here?” McGonagall demanded. “You _struck_ Harry, explain!”  
“I no longer have a job, Minerva! The Potter brat was shouting rude things at me, and in my anger, I allowed Grindelwald to get under my skin! As such, I no longer have a job!”  
“Good riddance. The minute you struck a child, especially one in _my_ care, you deserved to be tossed out on your… your… ass!”

Snpe was beginning to turn purple. Lupin lifted his wand and spun him slowly.  
“Remus John Lupin! That is not helpful!” McGonagall hissed, before growling, “Remus, get his trunks and clothes. I will deal with Snape.”  
Severus protested, yet suffered the indignity of being dragged through Hogwarts upside-down, before being thrown into the Lake.

“This is absurd!” He sputtered. Remus returned with his luggage, and McGonagall sent it flying out onto the grass.  
“Goodbye, Severus Snape. If you _ever_ come back to Hogwarts without _at least_ an apology on your lips, I will dispatch you as quickly and efficiently as I did now.”

Lupin waved goodbye as the doors of Hogwarts shut behind McGonagall.  


	17. The Holiday Chapter (now in August)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: "Freedom"

“Greetings, children!” Grindelwald announced as he swept into the Slytherin common room. “I’m your new head of house, because Snape got yelled at, he quit, and then he slapped Harry Potter. Knowing Minerva McGonagall as we all do, it’s easy to realize that Snape is very probably dead right now. A moment of silence for Snape, even though I couldn’t stand him.”   
One of the first years burst out crying.

Grindelwald conjured a handkerchief. “That wasn’t a moment of silence, but it doesn’t matter.”   
“Weren’t you expelled?” Blaise asked.   
“From Durmstrang, no less?” Theodore added.   
“Good point children. I volunteered, and Albus has literally no other Slytherin teachers here. None. There’s Filch, but even _I_ , famed genocidal maniac, don’t want to subject you all to that. Hopefully, under my tutelage, you’ll learn to think for yourselves, win the House Cup without Snape being a little shit, overcome your family’s expectations of following the Pretender, and become worthwhile people and soldiers.”

“So you’re also going to teach us potions?” A fourth year asked.   
Grindelwald shook his head. “I was always better with wandwork. Albus said something about getting an Auror, so naturally I shall be sitting in the corner and doing my best to unnerve them.”   
“ _Why_?”   
“Because it’s fun.” Grindelwald pointed out.

Most of the Slytherins conceded this point.   
“So you’re just going to hang about our common room?” Someone asked.   
Grindelwald shrugged. “Not exactly. Single file, obedient children in back. We’re going on a march around the castle.”   
“It’s winter.”   
“Can we get our coats?”   
“What _is_ this?”   
“I don’t march!”

The Slytherins all spoke at once, and Grindelwald raised his wand. “I’d hate to cast an Imperius on any of you.”

They all immediately shut up, and he gave them a Cheshire cat grin. “That’s better. Come along, children. And if you run, it will be ten times worse for you. Older children, please give the younger ones Warming Charms, and off we go!” Many Slytherins were now realizing that he and Dumbledore were perfect for one another, as no one else seemed to think that particular way (even Theodore Nott found this odd).

It got a bit weirder when Grindelwald started singing in German, and then instructed them all to do so. Soon they were all singing (loudly) in a language few (if any) understood, following a genocidal madman around. They passed a few Gryffindors, who were compelled to follow them, if only to see Slytherins humiliated and find out what was going _on_. The Ravenclaws didn’t even seem to notice, and the Hufflepuffs were safely ensconced in their warm Common Room.

“Thank you Prof…” Harry trailed off, leaving the door to McGonagall’s office open as he stared at the procession marching past. Some of the Slytherins were choosing to high-step in their march, while others preferred normal synchronity. All held their wands high, chanting something in German Harry wasn’t entirely sure about.   
McGonagall joined him, raising an eyebrow. “Is this the work of _that man_?”

Harry hazarded a nod.   
“Severus Snape may have done something repugnant, and he deserved a good scolding, but even _he_ wouldn’t do something like this.” McGonagall huffed, before hiking up her skirts and running after Grindelwald, presumably heading this strange procession. Harry just stared at the procession for a minute before yawning and heading towards Gryffindor tower. McGonagall would likely set this all to rights, or Grindelwald would come up with something new. Unfortunately, Theodore and Blaise snagged his arm and pulled him into the march.

“Let me go!” Harry ordered.   
“And have you miss all the fun? Even your fellow Gryffindors are here.” Blaise pointed to the other Gryffindors in as flamboyant a manner as possible. The Gryffindors waved, grinning madly.   
“You’re using me as a replacement for Draco Malfoy, aren’t you?” Harry remarked flatly.   
“Ha-ha! You get it!” Blaise grinned.

“Harry, no. We could never use you as a replacement for Draco. You’re nowhere near hilarious enough.” Theodore patted Harry’s hand gently, before grabbing his hand holding the wand and forcing it into the air, and sweeping him forward.   
“Why are you all going along with this so easily?” Harry asked.   
“Oh, Harry. We Slytherins don’t make trouble, at least where we can help it. Same with enemies.” Blaise commented. “Especially not enemies as strong as Dumbledore who used to be Dark Lords.”

Meanwhile, up at the head of the line, McGonagall demanded, “ _What_ are you doing?”   
“The only official school exercise is Quidditch. Walking is good for children. Singing keeps them walking in rhythm.”   
“What do _you_ know about children?”   
“I conscripted a few.” Grindelwald shrugged.

McGonagall scowled. “It’s past ten pm. You should do this during the day, so that you don’t go stomping around waking up children and keeping the first years up. For that matter, what are your teaching qualifications?”   
“Listen, I won’t be here forever.” Grindelwald pointed out.   
“You are over a hundred.” McGonagall agreed drily. “Your imminent death is less of something on the horizon and more of a sword of Damocles.”

Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “Rude. I meant in this position, half-blood. I never even went to your stupid school. I’m simply aiding the children in getting exercise and not becoming lumps of flesh. Lumps of flesh are useless soldiers.”   
“Normal people don’t use children as soldiers!”   
Grindelwald looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. “The Pretender is not a normal person. Neither am I, for that matter. The difference is, I’m retired. The Pretender just can’t accept that he’s dead. To defeat him, you’re going to have to play by his rules.”

“You told Albus you didn’t want to use children!” McGonagall hissed.   
The children nearest to Grindelwald looked worried.   
“I don’t. But I also don’t want to leave their training open-ended, and thus have them be unprepared. Especially the scrawny hero boy.”

Miles away, ensconced in Spinner’s End, Snape was sitting with a cup of tea and steaming. Literally steaming—the man was sitting in a near-scalding bathtub, bubbles tastefully supplied by his house-elf. Snape didn’t even care at this point. (He would never admit this, but he considered bubble baths a luxury and heartily enjoyed them.) The little Potter brat hadn’t spared any aspect of his personality. Grindelwald was likely using his snakes as target practice for Potter.

He sipped some of the tea, noting the house-elf had spiked it with a Calming Draught. So he had failed Lily’s child. Well, not yet, not technically. He’d be dead if he had. But he could no longer be part of Hogwarts, which had been his home for so long. He took another sip of tea, fighting the rising tide of _sentiment_. Dumbledore likely expected him to be a fulltime spy. _Ha_. Snape’s allegiances hadn’t shifted, but he would no longer play a pawn. He couldn’t. He would be a Death Eater on the front lines now, and would likely be forced to assist in Voldemort’s eventual rebirth.

See, the thing about being a Slytherin on the inside of a dangerous organization is that it keeps you on your toes. Moreso if you’re a spy, but at this point, Snape was quickly gathering that Dumbledore’s faction was beginning to wither with Grindelwald (of all people!) standing beside him. Potter was likely going to become the de facto leader, especially since he was already making connections with the house of the tacticians and schemers (which he desperately needed. Potter wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer), yet in no universe could Snape imagine the brat accepting –or being offered!—his help.

That left Snape working alone, and in all honesty, he had no support network. So. Lord Voldemort would be reborn with his help, but he’d be missing a few… key components. That would be worth the subsequent Crucios, and might even win over the help of the Malfoys (since Narcissa held no love for the Dark Lord and most definitely not that part of his anatomy). He play Potion Master to the Dark Lord, but would keep him continuously laced with sedatives. He’d kill innocent people, but he’d set traps for the loyal followers of the Dark Lord to meet with Nagini in a dark, locked room.

And for the first time in… well, actually, his entire life, Severus Snape felt free. There was no Tobias Snape. There was no Dark Lord or Death Eaters. There was no Dumbledore. There was just him. And he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to take the opportunity and just focus on himself instead of some mealy-mouthed brats.   
He rested his head against the edge of the tub, sipping his tea again. This was good.

The date of the Malfoy’s Yule Celebration arrived faster than Harry had thought. He ran downstairs, clutching his bag, to reach whatever Theodore had called a ‘Portkey’ in the Great Hall. On the shopping excursion, McGonagall had bought him what she and Theodore referred to as ‘dress robes’, which Harry honestly was quite impressed by. They fit him perfectly, and reminded him of the uniform on his old toy soldiers he’d fished out of the rubbish bin, since they had rather a lot of ornamental buttons in silver. 

The irony of the outfit wasn’t lost on Theodore.   
Harry was the last one down. Theodore was dressed in sweeping black silk robes with fine silver embroidery. Blaise was wearing open green satin robes, with a darker green suit underneath.   
“You look like you’re wearing a dressing gown.” Theodore commented.   
Blaise scoffed. “Surely the Malfoys of all people will appreciate fashion.”

“And _what_ are you basing this on?”   
“Lucius Malfoy’s tendencies to collect albino peacocks.”   
Theodore was quiet for a moment, leaning into Blaise’s face. “Was that an innuendo?”   
“No.” Blaise huffed. “It is simply that my outer robe reminds one of the majesty of a peacock. This is the height of Italian fashion.”   
“How wonderful. The only thing is that we are currently in England.”

Blaise looked Theodore up and down. “I honestly don’t remember England ever leading any fashion trends. Or the Renaissance. I remember them being pirates though!”   
“Privateers!” Theodore hissed. “The English were _privateers_! And you are Italian, not Spanish, so it doesn’t matter! And it doesn’t count that Spain controlled part of Italy, because Austria controlled the other part, and the English never targeted Austrian ships!”

“You don’t know what part of Italy I’m from.” Blaise huffed.   
“You are from Florence, Blaise.”   
“Am I interrupting anything?” Harry finally asked.

Theodore whipped around, while Blaise arranged his outer robe.   
“Ah, there you are, Harry. We were going to come find you, but then Blaise decided to look like an idiot.”   
Blaise stuck his tongue out.   
“I’m just surprised Blaise hasn’t discovered shoulder pads.” Harry pointed out as the other boys collected their overnight bags.

Blaise huffed, before asking, “What’s a shoulder pad?”   
“Never you mind.” Theodore ordered, before grabbing hold of a goblet. Hurriedly, Blaise grabbed it as well.   
“Harry!” Theodore’s tone brooked no argument. Harry quickly grabbed the goblet, then jolted as suddenly it seemed as though they were flying.

“I hope this doesn’t ruin my hair!” Blaise wailed.   
“ _I_ somewhat hope that Harry sicks up on you.” Theodore confessed.   
Blaise let out an anguished wail and probably would have hit Theodore if they weren’t flying through the air. Both boys shot Theodore an angry look though.

“Harry, we’re nearly there, you need to let go.” Theodore told him as Blaise let go of the goblet and disappeared.   
“ _What_?!” Harry demanded.   
“Let go!” Theodore ordered, before sliding his bag up onto his arm and grabbing Harry’s hand. Both boys let go of the goblet, crashing rather hard next where Blaise was lying on the ground. “This entire idea was stupid. Why did we take a Portkey?”

The boys collected their bags and dusted themselves off (and Harry made sure nothing was broken, though it appeared the shopkeepers had placed several charms on his purchases), and proceeded to the Manor. The other two boys expertly dodged a roving flock of peacocks, though Harry was left behind. Their beady eyes stared into his, until they eventually moved off, realizing he was a guest and far too scrawny to eat otherwise. Harry shuddered, considering them little better than pigeons.

They reached the Manor without further incident, and were directed into the parlor by house-elves (who also took their bags, sans gifts, which were delivered to a table laden with various other presents).   
“Darlings, welcome.” Narcissa swooped down upon the boys, giving them a graceful smile. “Ah, Mr. Potter, I was expecting you with your godfather.”   
“It was easier to Portkey from Hogwarts.” Harry shrugged. “Er… thank you for inviting me.”

Narcissa looked highly satisfied. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all, dear. Go on in, Draco’s waiting for you three.”   
As they walked in, Theodore whispered, “She’s not usually like that. Draco’s the only one she calls ‘dear’ and ‘darling’.”   
“Is she up to something?”   
“No, she just gets like this in public. Tomorrow morning we’ll come down for breakfast and find her practically chugging Turkish coffee, and she won’t nearly be as sugary. Ah, hello, Mother. Have you met Harry Potter?”

Harry was introduced to various people. Theodore’s mother was a very quiet woman, who seemed a bit terrified of Narcissa Malfoy. Of course, when called to her son’s defense, she was quite vocal, but otherwise she just seemed to try to blend into the shelves. Cantankerous Nott reminded Harry of a rather old great-uncle of Dudley’s he’d been forced to visit when he was younger who talked consistently about his experiences during both World Wars. He called Harry several rude names during the visit, but other than that was cordial enough. Harry vastly preferred him to most of his relatives.

All the same, Cantankerous and Letitia seemed to love each other, and the rest of the faces were a definite blur, until Draco whisked him off to the corner where the other boys where lounging against the wall, trying to look like apathetic teens without spoiling their clothes.   
“Ah, Harry.” Draco brushed some imaginary dirt off of Harry, pretending the other boy had wandered over. “There you are.”

“I’m going to be honest, Draco. I expected a lot more threats than I have found.”   
“What are you talking about? You’re the Boy-Who-Lived in the midst of many Death Eaters—”   
“What’s up?!” A new voice called from the entrance. Narcissa’s mouth was a thin line. “Hello, Sirius.”

“Cissy.”   
“I see your _heir_ had the good sense to at least be on time.”   
“We are so sorry we’re late.” Remus said softly. Everyone had stopped talking and was now staring at them. Sirius stuck his tongue out and made the sign of devil horns on his right hand, while pulling Remus closer with the other.   
“I see _he_ at least has the good sense to be polite.” Narcissa noted stiffly. “Azkaban hasn’t improved your temperament, Sirius.”

“I bet it would have improved Lucius’.” Sirius shot back.   
Across the room, Lucius’ eye began to twitch.   
“Sirius Orion Black, if you cannot behave yourself, you will be ejected.”   
“You’re not my mother, no matter how much you try to be.”   
“ _Sirius_ , you promised you’d be civil!” Remus hissed, tugging on his arm.

That was exactly when the Greengrasses arrived.   
Draco nearly dropped his drink, and Harry settled back against the fireplace, watching Crabbe and Goyle snog.   
“Oh dear.” Adalicia noted.

“I’m _not_ trying to be Aunt Walburgia. Aunt Walburgia accidentally raised a degenerate and a man who was taken far too young by a madman. _Draco_ will be neither of those things.” Narcissa hissed. “Furthermore, Draco _will_ however get the remainder of the Black vault! Harry Potter is a nice young man, but he _clearly_ has almost _no_ relation to you!”   
“Then maybe I’ll leave it to Andy’s daughter!” Sirius hissed. “It’s not like _you_ need it!”

“You don’t even know the girl’s name! I at least know the girl was training to become an Auror—how many people still believe you to be a murderer? I highly doubt the girl wants it anyway. So since Harry Potter clearly wants nothing to do with you –such a smart boy, such a good friend to Draco—and Nymphadora probably still finds you a heartless murderer, not to mention both are halfbloods and antagonizing Aunt Walburgia’s portrait can only be fun to you for so long, the money _will_ go to Draco.”

“You may deny it, but you’re raising Draco to be just like Reg, I hope you know that.” Sirius hissed. “He’s going to end up the same as well.”   
“I’m guessing that’s the corpse he mentioned.” Theodore noted.   
Narcissa didn’t notice. She produced her wand with a flourish, pointing it at Sirius. “Take it back.”   
“Sirius, that went a bit far—” Lupin pointed out.

Lucius was hurrying across the room.   
“I will take nothing back, Moony. Narcissa knows full well what will happen to her son. And she _deserves_ it. The only way she’s different from Bella-bitch is that she’s more calculating, like a snake in the grass. She is just as sadistic, she is just as powerful, and I bet she loves old Moldywarts just as much.”

“Do you want to duel?” Narcissa asked quietly. “Because if so, I will not be held accountable for your death. I invited you here for a celebration, not to be insulted in my own home, struck with vicious lies, and forced to listen to your measly little opinions.”   
“Narcissa, let’s not do this…” Lucius had reached his wife and was trying to tug her arm down.   
“Is Astoria watching?” Draco muttered through his hands.   
“ _Everybody’s_ watching.” Blaise pouted.

“This is so _embarrassing_!” Draco groaned.   
“I agree. Normally your mother is only like this after a few drinks.” Theodore pointed out.   
Draco removed his hands from his face. “I will fight you, Nott, if you ever say something like that again.”   
“Draco, you are as loyal as a Hufflepuff.” Harry pointed out. Draco puffed himself up. “I am, aren’t I? I’ve out-puffed the Hufflepuffs. But you’re about to say I’ve inherited my temper from my mother, aren’t you?”  

“It’s pretty obvious.” Theodore agreed.   
“To be fair, Sirius seems just as bad.” Harry pointed out. Both Sirius and Narcissa now had their wands drawn. Lupin finally managed to pull Sirius over to the corner, whispering harshly. He gestured continuously at Harry and Narcissa, while Lucius simply stood beside Narcissa.

“Well, I can certainly say should our families align, it would never be dull.” Adalicia spoke up.   
Astoria visibly cringed.   
Peneus chuckled. “Now, now. Plenty of time for that.”   
Daphne smoothed the skirt of her silk gown. All three Greengrass women were wearing similar gowns, the simplicity increasing according to age. Adalicia’s was an immaculate dark gray with jewels sewn in tastefully at various points, her hair neatly coiffed.

Daphne’s was Slytherin green, with beautiful embroidery. Astoria’s was silver, and while lacking most ornamentation, still as elegant as the others. Draco nearly dropped his drink again when he saw her clearly.   
Narcissa, by comparison, was quickly regaining her own composure to become as immaculate while Lucius sneakily removed her wand from her hand. “Hello, I’m sorry you all had to see that.”   
Adalicia smirked. “Not at all. I was expecting a very standard evening.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”   
Lucius, eager to head off another burgeoning conflict, cleared his throat. “Draco? Would you like to escort the younger Miss Greengrass into a dance?”   
Draco handed his drink to Theodore immediately, and nearly sprinted across the room.   
Daphne made eye contact with Harry, and wouldn’t stop staring at him. Getting the message, Harry followed Draco’s lead. “I can’t dance.”

“I don’t care.” Daphne hissed. “That _ferret_ has my sister in his evil clutches.”   
Harry didn’t comment on the unfortunate resemblance. “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”   
Daphne spun him out of turn to stare at Draco and Astoria. “Can you imagine what he’s saying to her?”   
“Bad poetry?” Harry guessed.

“How dastardly.” Daphne hissed.   
Harry didn’t comment on that either, spending all of his attention on trying to not step on Daphne’s dress and to try to figure out what he was meant to be doing. He vaguely noticed Theodore join with Pansy (who had been at the punch table with Millicent Bulstrode whispering), Blaise with the aforementioned Millicent, and Crabbe and Goyle join them on the dance floor.

“By the way, Potter. My heart belongs to Su Li, so this doesn’t mean anything.” Daphne pointed out. “You were simply the lesser of many evils, and Slytherins are vindictive when you take their soulmate.”   
“So Blaise and Millicent…?”   
“No, of course not. Blaise’s soulmate goes to Beauxbatons, or so he says. Millicent’s soulmate is Justin Finch-Fletchley, even if he’s a completely useless tosser. Hopefully she will make him mature.”   
“You don’t have a high opinion of most of the boys you know, do you?”

Daphne sniffed as though Harry had said she was a vicious shrew. “I have high standards for my friends. And also… I’m a bit bad at properly expressing emotion. You’re good.”   
“Are we friends?”   
“Trust me Harry Potter, more friends cannot hurt you. Also, yes. My sister says you’re a nice boy, as does Hermione Granger, so I’m inclined to believe them. Therefore, I will accept your friendship.”

“Ah.” Harry wasn’t exactly sure why she phrased it that way, but Slytherins were very odd.   
Daphne nodded. “So the contract is sealed.”   
“Please don’t tell me I just pledged my soul to you.”   
She spun him around abruptly again. “No. Just friendship.”   
“Does this mean you want me to stand against you with Draco?”

“You heard his mother. He’s a racist, he despises gingers and muggleborns, he hates Gryffindor house, and his parents work for the man who killed your parents. Do you _want_ to be his friend?”   
“He’s getting a lot better.” Harry said defensively. “And he _is_ my friend, Daphne. If you can’t understand that, then we will not be friends ourselves. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Crystal.” Daphne growled.   
“He’s not going to be awful to your sister, by the way. He seems mostly harmless, if a bit dramatic.”   
Daphne scoffed, but didn’t comment further. Harry had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Slytherins, with the apparent exception of Astoria, were all insane.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Harry heard Snape drawl.   
Harry sighed. Wonderful. This night was going _so_ well.   
“I understand your feelings.” Daphne’s hand previously resting on his shoulder was now patting him brusquely, despite the fact that they were not friends. “I myself find him to be repugnant and nepotistic.”   
“ _You_ ’re a Slytherin.”   
“And I am excellent at Potions, but even among us, he favors Draco Malfoy.” Daphne seethed.

Harry quickly came to the conclusion that that was mostly why she hated him. Given that Daphne was friends with Hermione, beyond her general demeanor, it wasn’t hard to guess that she was right about being great at Potions.   
“If it helps, he quit his job.” Harry offered.   
“ _What_?” Daphne hissed.

Harry quickly explained, leaving out the bit about Grindelwald. Daphne looked almost rapturous.   
“I thought he had hypothermia.” Remus commented lightly to Sirius.   
“Would have deserved it.” Sirius huffed.   
“ _Don’t_. You nearly started something with Narcissa, when you _promised_ you would behave.”

“I didn’t know she got to Harry.” Sirius huffed.  
“I told you, her son is friends with him. He doesn’t trust us, Sirius.”   
Sirius deflated slightly. “I never should have come.”

“Don’t say that.” Remus leaned against his soulmate.   
“No, being back here reminds me of my childhood. _She_ reminds me of my childhood.”   
“Sirius, I’m sorry that we—”  
“No, don’t. It’s good to come here. It’s just that I can’t remember anything _good_ about my childhood.”

“How do you even remember anything good about me?” Remus asked.   
“It’s more like there’s so much from you, and even then most of the memories I have about you are about accidentally hurting you, like when Snivellus was nearly—”   
“My _name_ is _Severus._ ” Snape growled, stalking over.

“You have some nerve, Severus.” Remus said quietly. “I haven’t forgotten what you did to Harry.”   
Snape scoffed. “And _I_ haven’t forgotten Narcissa and Lucius’ policy regarding werewolves. What are you two even _doing_ here?”   
“ _I_ am her cousin.” Sirius growled.   
“Yes, and Bellatrix is her sister, but that doesn’t mean that Narcissa would welcome her into her home with open arms.” Snape scoffed. “I, however, am her son’s godfather.”

“Speaking of godfathers, Harry’s a _child_ , Snape.”   
“Oh, not this again. I was already chased about by Minerva McGonagall and _this one_. I was thrown into the Lake. I was yelled at by the Potter brat, I lost my job, and I put up with the jibes of Gellert Grindelwald. I didn’t even turn into some evil bat like you all think. I agree that my physical striking of Mr. Potter was not proper conduct, and I shall apologize. To him. Provided I receive an apology in return.”

“That’s mature of you, Severus.” Remus said.   
“Don’t, Remus. He doesn’t get a prize for being decent. He never should have hit Harry in the first place.”   
“Black, there is a whole list of things _you_ never should have done that I suggest you concern yourself with instead of mine, else someone put you down.”   
“Is that a threat, Snape?”

Remus elbowed him gently. “You numpty. It was obviously a threat, though an empty one if Snape doesn’t want trouble.”   
Snape scoffed, before stalking over to where Harry was now sitting with Draco, others still dancing. Harry had been pulled away after both Greengrass sisters had changed partners. Apparently despite Theodore’s claims he was actually quite good at dancing. As for Draco, he was apparently ‘saving himself for Astoria’. Harry wasn’t quite sure what this meant, besides the conclusion that magical dances were far more invasive than Muggle ones, though this didn’t actually seem to be the case.  

“Ah. Draco.” Snape’s cloak fell about him as though he was some sort of enormous bat.   
“Godfather.” Draco greeted him.   
“Mr. Potter. I am very sorry about what befell us at our previous meeting.” Harry raised an eyebrow, before pointedly looking behind Snape at Sirius and Remus, then back at Snape.   
Snape ground his teeth. “While I despise you, it was highly unprofessional of me to strike you in such a manner. Just as it was unprofessional of you to…” He trailed off expectantly.

“It was unprofessional of me to tell you my opinion of you.” Harry added slowly. “But in retrospect, I had no idea you were going to go mad because I said something like that to you. As for the swat, it didn’t hurt. You don’t even hit that hard—I’ve had much worse.”   
Draco stiffened, but remained silent.   
Snape glowered at Harry. “That is not the point, you stupid brat! I am your elder, and I am to be treated with respect—don’t deflect! And don’t excuse my behavior while I’m apologizing!”

Harry stood. For a minute he was silent, but nothing particularly witty came to mind. “Professor, I’m not sure whether you’re apologizing to assuage your conscience, or because Sirius Black looks as though he wishes to snap your neck, and Professor Lupin looks as though he would withhold chocolate from you indefinitely. Either way, I never intended everything to turn out this way. And I’ve practically been on the edge of my seat for three years, waiting for a slap to fall from you. Because while you ‘loved’ my mother, you remind me more of my aunt Petunia. Do you know who that is?”

Snape flinched. “Of course I know who Petunia is. She was an unfortunate addition to my childhood. Now, I think both of us have apologized in an appropriate manner, so I will bid you farewell. Draco.” He nodded at his godson, ignoring the other child staring straight at him.   
“That was weird.” Draco noted. “Are you alright? Did he… did he really hit you?”   
Harry nodded solemnly. “Honestly, I think both of us would prefer being kept separated. We might be able to tolerate each other then.”

“I’m sorry.”   
Harry cracked a smile. “A historic… what is that?”   
Draco followed his gaze. “That’s a peacock.”

“I know that. What is it doing inside? Did it wander in?”   
Draco slumped against the wall. “No. He’s meant to be here.”   
“But the others…”   
“You don’t understand. That’s Draco II. My mother dotes on him. Stupid bird.”

Harry blinked a bit. “And it’s named… Draco II.”   
“Of course. Mother uses him as a replacement for me while I’m at school. Away with you, Draco II!”   
The bird stared at him for a minute, before leaning over and pecking his shoe.   
“Argh, no! I swear, I will tell Mother on you!”

Harry sipped his drink. He didn’t expect this to get any weirder at this point. Of course this _was_ Draco Malfoy, arguing with a bird, in the vicinity of Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Harry, sensing no other form of respite, snuck towards Sirius Black and Professor Lupin, leaving Draco to argue with Draco II.

“Ah, Harry. Come to join your godfather?” Sirius Black was beaming at him now. Oh dear.   
“Slytherins are… an acquired taste.” Harry remarked carefully.   
Sirius Black laughed quite boisterously. “Ah, just imagine what growing up in a house full of them was like!”   
Harry nodded. He couldn’t actually, but he suspected it _might_ be better than Aunt Petunia and Dudley, not to mention Uncle Vernon and his sister.   
“So, wanna ditch this party and—”   
“Sirius, he’s thirteen!” Lupin hissed.   
“You didn’t let me finish!”   
“Really? What were you going to say?” Professor Lupin asked pointedly.   
“A visit to Hogsmeade.” Sirius Black batted his eyelashes, feigning innocence.

“Is that your final answer?” Professor Lupin asked.   
Harry became increasingly aware that in about five seconds he’d become a third wheel. “So… um... you know any more stories about my dad? Or even my mum?”   
Professor Lupin smiled beatifically at him. “Oh, yes. We know several.”   
Sirius Black leaned over and whispered something to him. Professor Lupin turned scarlet. “You just _try_ telling Harry that one while he’s here! How do you even remember it?”

“I remember it by proxy. My mother certainly tanned my hide.” Sirius Black smirked.   
Professor Lupin looked concerned, then hugged Sirius Black quite hard. Harry sipped his drink. Perhaps Sirius Black also had terrible relatives. That explained why he attacked Malfoy’s mum—if Harry had stayed with the Dursleys longer _and_ been to Azkaban around all those Dementors, he would also want to attack Dudley. Of course, Malfoy’s mum was a good deal prettier than Dudley, though that wasn’t exactly saying much. A reeking pile of rubbish was more aesthetically pleasing than Dudley.

“So, anyway Harry, what would you like for Christmas?” Professor Lupin asked.   
Harry nearly dropped his drink. “I thought Wizards didn’t celebrate Christmas.”   
Lupin laughed. “Most don’t. I do, though. My mum was a Muggle.”   
“Ah… well… it’s really alright.” Harry rushed to tell them. “I didn’t get you anything, and Christmas is tomorrow…”   
“We could give you a _late_ present.” Sirius Black amended. “And don’t worry about us! Or, you could come live with us at Grimmauld Place!”

“Thank you for the offer, but it doesn’t feel right when I haven’t gotten you anything, and Professor McGonagall might not take me back to Diagon Alley…”   
Lupin smiled sadly. “Oh, Harry… it’s alright, really.”   
“And I live with Professor McGonagall now.” Harry added quietly.   
Sirius Black grinned again, though it felt a little more fake this time. “Just as well, really. I, um… I’m not doing too well with the memories of Azkaban, and Moony here’d spoil you rotten.”

“I would _not_.” Professor Lupin was also smiling.   
“Would too. The minute he started pulling crocodile tears, you’d drop whatever he’d done and give him chocolate.” Sirius Black laughed. “Let me ask you something, Harry. Did he give you chocolate when you first met him?”   
“Sure, but there was a Dementor in the train compartment.”

A hush fell over the three. Sirius Black’s smile looked even more fake. “L-looking for me… I’d imagine. Yeah?”   
Harry shrugged. “I fainted. I don’t know why I’m so affected by them… but Professor Lupin? Didn’t you do something to drive it off?”   
“A Patronus charm.” Lupin nodded solemnly. “I’ll teach you once term starts back up.”   
Harry grinned. “Thanks, Professor Lupin.”   
Sirius Black whispered something along the lines of, “Is your Patronus a wolf?” to which Lupin nodded.

Narcissa Malfoy stood in front of the room, beaming at them. “Dinner is ready. Please proceed to the dining room.”   
Somehow Daphne Greengrass shoved Astoria onto Harry’s arm, and he escorted her into the dining room, following the crowd of adults (and ignoring Draco’s glare burning into his back).   
“How’s Ginny?” She whispered excitedly.   
“Um… good, I guess?” Harry whispered back. “You look pretty, by the way.”   
Astoria huffed. “Thank you.”   
“No problem.” Harry guessed that was the correct answer. She didn’t seem to get (more) offended, so it was probably alright.

He saw his name and was about to sit down, but she tugged him over to her seat. Once she was satisfied with him escorting her, she released him, standing pointedly next to her seat. Harry realized he was meant to pull it out for her, and did so (even though Draco was now facing him and the glare had therefore intensified. Harry shrugged as best he could, before returning to his seat—right next to Draco.

“How could you, Harry?” Draco hissed. “I thought we were friends!”   
“We _are_ friends! That’s why I told Daphne Greengrass I’d keep being friends with you and I wouldn’t be friends with her when she insulted you! But Daphne Greengrass is scary and doesn’t want you near her sister, so I ended up escorting Astoria in. I’m not trying to romance your girlfriend!”

Draco turned scarlet, which Harry privately thought made him look rather odd. “She is _not_ my girlfriend! She is my _soulmate_!”   
“You’re _thirteen_!”   
“So?”   
“Whatever. Wizards… anyway, you got to dance with her, right? How was that?”   
The last of the guests sat down, and house-elves appeared with the first course. Both Draco and Harry helped themselves.

“It appeared that she was instructed in a different style of the waltz than I.” Draco sighed.   
Astoria smirked across the table at them.   
“Or she was stepping on your feet on purpose…” Harry mused. “Regardless, how many different styles of the _waltz_ are there?”   
“At least five.” Draco replied as though he was explaining to a simple child. “I was tutored in the International English Waltz, which is normal, and being from the continent, I assume she was taught the _Viennese_ waltz, which is much faster.”

“Draco, she’s English too.” Harry pointed out.   
“Stuff and nonsense, Harry. She clearly takes after her mother.”   
“If this is the sort of conversation you have with her, I know why she stepped on your feet.” Harry murmured into his cup, before setting it back down on the table. “Hey, Draco. Aren’t you French?”   
“Way back, yes. My father’s family was involved with the Norman conquests.”   
“What about the Blacks?”

“Oh, we can trace _them_ back before the Founders. Of course, rather a lot of them were killed by Muggles. A very tumultuous time in England, you know.”   
“You know about pre-Norman England?” Harry asked, surprised.   
Draco chuckled. “Oh, Harry. I know far more than those backwater Muggles ever taught you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Somehow, he doubted that. Of course, Draco knew more in terms of _Wizarding_ history, but not everything else. “How?”   
“Mother has long since instructed me in the Black family history. We were some of the first Wizards in England, you know.” Draco remarked proudly.   
Harry folded his hands under his chin. “And where did the Blacks come from before that?”   
Draco shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. They’ve been here as long as anyone could be.”

“So where did the Black family wizards come from if there were no Wizards in England, and they were thoroughly English?” Harry asked.   
Draco raised an eyebrow. “That was a trap worthy of Theodore. Well done, Harry. Yes, it’s likely the Black family has Muggle roots. But we removed them from the tapestry.”

“Tapestry?”   
“We have a self-updating tapestry regarding our family tree.” Draco explained matter-of-factly. “If they haven’t been blasted off, they –and their subsequent children—appear on it.”   
“Blasted off?”   
“Disowned. Like Sirius Black there.” Draco gestured to Harry’s godfather, who was relegating the people near him with a tale of a mischievous deed he had done in his schooldays, while Professor Lupin looked on fondly.

“So you don’t actually blast them.” Harry said, relieved.   
Draco shrugged. “I mean, they probably got into duels.”   
“That doesn’t seem healthy.”   
“No.” Draco sighed. “More often than not –don’t make the pun, everybody makes the pun about Theodore’s surname, and it’s grating on my nerves—they end up in the hospital when they try to leave the family, but it’s for their own good. My mother’s sister, Andromeda, ran off with some Muggleborn named Theodore or Edward or something and no one’s heard from her since. My poor aunt is likely dead.”

“Well, have you tried to contact her?” Harry asked.   
“Of course not.” Draco said patronizingly. “What do you think we are, Muggle sympathizers?”   
“Mm. Hey, Draco, didn’t your mum go mad at Sirius Black about his inheritance?”   
“Sirius Black doesn’t have it all there.” Draco whispered conspiratorially. “Mother was likely trying to speak his language and reason with him.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, as the next course arrived. “He seemed fine to me.”   
Draco gave a sigh of long-suffering. “He _seems_ fine. Trust me, the Black family madness was apparently strong in that one. That, plus Azkaban, means that said member of the Black family is definitely insane.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Huddled together on a rock, muttering to herself, a limp form breathed a sigh of relief as an Auror with a patronus passed, then stopped in front of her cell.   
“It’s nearly Christmas.” The Auror pointed out. “Do you even know what that means anymore?”   
Bellatrix’s empty eyes stared into her.

The Auror sighed, before slipping Bellatrix the _Daily Prophet_ under her arm. “Don’t tell them I gave you this, okay? There should be a mention of your sister in the society pages. Happy Christmas, even though you _are_ a Death Eater.”   
Bellatrix did not acknowledge the comment, but picked up the newspaper that came through her food slot.

The Auror walked away, but Bellatrix forced herself to think. Emblazoned on the front page was ‘ _Headmaster Dumbledore allows Grindelwald refuge at Hogwarts!_ ’ That meant Grindelwald escaped. That meant escape was possible, and her dumb mutt cousin wasn’t a mistake. They’d kept the newspapers away from them after that, but apparently the Auror was new. Newbies meant weaknesses.

_Think, think, think_! A Dementor passed, and Bellatrix hurriedly tried to immerse herself in the society pages. There was Cissy, looking beautiful as always, next to _Stupid Traitor Malfoy_. Watching pretty little Cissy smile helped. And help meant Bellatrix could think. Unlike _Stupid Traitor Malfoy_ and _Idiot Rowle_ and even _BLOOD TRAITOR ANDY HOW COULD SHE_ Bellatrix was a Slytherin through and through.

She scuttled over to her window, rubbing her hands against the rust to mimic blood. Satisfied, she curled up again, and began whimpering softly. Sure enough, the new Auror found her.   
“What happened?” The Auror demanded.   
“I hurt…” Bellatrix looked at the Auror with large eyes.   
The Auror hesitated, before entering the room. “I know a few Healing spells—”

Bellatrix lunged for the _dumb idiot Auror should have known better_ and knocked her head back against the floor. Momentarily disoriented, Bellatrix was able to take the Auror’s wand and fling it out of the Auror’s reach, before driving her grimy fingernails into the other woman’s eyes. No one noticed the Auror’s shrieks of terror—what’s one more, at Azkaban? Bellatrix knocked the Auror’s head back again, before grabbing her keys and leaving her cell.

As she stepped out into the corridor, she began to feel lightheaded—both from the lack of nutrition and from the few wounds the Auror had given her. She hadn’t even felt them at the time, but now they were beginning to sting. Bellatrix mused upon this for a moment, then picked up the Auror’s wand, locked the door to her cell, and went in search of Rodolphus, Rabastan, and any others who had not abandoned Their Lord. Barty Crouch Jr. would be a good one—time in Azkaban should have toughened him up.

Bellatrix took a deep breath of (admittedly still stale Azkaban) air, before setting off on her quest. Their Lord needed her—and she was free. She might even be able to pop in and see Cissy before Yule was over. Didn’t Cissy have a baby? She should get something for her nephew. Something Their Lord would approve of for the boy. Yes, that would do nicely. Bellatrix Black Lestrange, free for the first time in twelve years, began to whistle a tune she heard the Muggleborn Aurors whistle at this time of year. She was, after all, feeling the ‘Christmas spirit’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now know that Ted Tonks' real name was actually Edward (not Theodore like I thought) and Charlus Potter apparently actually had a son. For the sake of the AU's continuity, we're going to pretend these things aren't real in this universe.


	18. In Which Bellatrix (and friends) are 'resolved'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooooo double update
> 
> If you're squicked by gore, start scrolling down when Bellatrix starts yelling in all-caps. There's a line about Hogwarts needing a therapist that should be fine to stop at.

Draco Malfoy lay on his stomach on top of his bed, heels in the air. “So, does anyone have any good ghost stories?”   
“I heard the Bloody Baron died because of a torrid love affair.” Blaise remarked from on top of his sleeping bag.   
“We’ve all heard that one.” Theodore pointed out.   
“Harry hasn’t.”

“How did Sir Nicholas die?” Vincent Crabbe asked.   
Harry furrowed his brow in thought. “Well—”   
“No, you have to tell it like a ghost story.” Draco pointed at him, unable to poke his friend.

Harry sat up and cleared his throat. “Well… it was a dark and stormy night. Sir Nicholas was very, very drunk when he met a very, very pretty Muggle noblewoman. Except for her teeth. Her teeth were ugly, and he said he could fix them. So, he did his best, but unfortunately, grew a tusk instead.”   
“A single tusk?” Gregory Goyle asked.   
“He didn’t say,” Harry shrugged. “But Sir Nicholas was carted off to the Tower of London, where he shrieked and moaned terribly as they tortured him and snapped his wand. The next day, they dragged him to Tower Green, and chopped off his head. It took _forty-five_ strokes to do the job, and even then he didn’t fully lose his head.”

The Slytherins didn’t look impressed, and Harry found himself wishing for a flashlight. He might seem a bit more intimidating. As it stood, they quickly gave up on the subject of ghost stories after finding out Blaise knew a terrifying one about an Italian vampire (that apparently didn’t translate well), Draco’s horror stories all involved one of the Black family members, and Theodore had apparently been reading up on the H.P. Lovecraft stories in his spare time. Greg and Vince didn’t even try, they apparently just wanted to snog.

“Maybe we should go to sleep.” Harry suggested, stifling a yawn.   
Blaise looked scandalized. “Without putting on my facial mask and curlers? Harry, I don’t wake up like this.”   
Draco threw a pillow at him. “You git, I _knew_ you had a secret to your flawless skin and hair! No normal boy our age looks that good!”   
Blaise cackled gleefully. “How did you _think_ I became the most beautiful boy in school?”

“Go put on your curlers and facial mask.” Theodore ordered.   
“Right, if we don’t go to bed, Santa won’t come.” Harry grinned. Instead of laughing and protesting that they were too old for such a thing (well, Harry assumed so. Dudley had never really stopped receiving presents from Santa Claus which made him a bit thick in Harry’s mind, as the efforts were usually put forth by Aunt Petunia and himself), the Slytherins stared at him.

“What’s Santa Claus?” Draco asked.   
“Er… well… you know. He’s a fat man in a red suit that comes down your chimney in the middle of the night to leave gifts, if you’ve been good. Tonight’s the night he makes his rounds.”   
Instead of grinning, the Slytherins looked somewhat terrified.   
“Does he… _Floo_ in?” Blaise asked.

“No. He drives about in a flying sleigh pulled by eight reindeer, and lands on top of your house before squeezing down the chimney.”   
“What if you’ve been bad?”   
“He replaces all your gifts with coal.”   
“Where does he live?” Theodore asked.

“Up at the North Pole. He has a workshop there, where elves make toys for him to take. He likes it when you leave out milk and cookies for him.”   
“What happens if you don’t?” Draco whispered.   
Hary scratched the back of his head. “He doesn’t do anything? My cousin never left anything out for him, and he still got lots of presents.”

The Slytherins all breathed a sigh of relief.   
“I’ll take first watch.” Greg said.   
“You aren’t half. We have a date tomorrow.” Vince poked him.   
“ _I_ need my beauty sleep.” Blaise huffed.

“Harry and I are Flooing back to Hogwarts early tomorrow.” Theodore pointed out. “Neither of us can do it.”   
Draco scowled, and was about to say something when Harry interrupted. “Hang on. Why do we need to keep watch?”   
“So that Santa Claus doesn’t enter my home.” Draco spoke slowly, as though speaking to a younger child.   
“Why on Earth are you all scared of _him_? He gives you lollies and toys!”

“It takes a powerful witch or wizard to break through one ward like the Malfoys have up, let alone several over the course of one night. If he is indeed breaking through all the wards, there’s likely a nefarious purpose.”   
“Santa isn’t _real_. He’s just what parents tell Muggle children about to try to get them to behave and go to sleep!”

“I bet before coming to Hogwarts you would have said a lot of things aren’t real.” Theodore pointed out. “We’d rather not take any—”   
He was interrupted with a loud _BOOM_ coming from downstairs.

“The wards.” Draco whispered.   
“Santa’s here!” Blaise looked as though he was on the verge of hysterics.   
Another _BOOM_ followed, then a third straight after. Finally, there came the sound of what appeared to be the front door breaking. There was silence, then throughout the whole house, a high, almost childlike woman’s voice echoed, “Cissy… where are you… Rodolphus and I brought something for your baby…”

Draco squeaked, and they all looked to him for clarification. “It’s barmy Bella! Mother used to tell me stories about her. Wait… Harry… you need to leave.”   
“What?”   
Theodore stood. “Get dressed, Harry. Bellatrix Lestrange was one of the strongest lieutenants of the Dark Lord. You’re the Boy Who Lived. You may have been safe at the party, but no longer. We need to get you out of here.”

“And leave you all to rot? Fat chance. We’ll all Floo to Hogwarts—she’s not even looking for me, she’s looking for Draco. I don’t trust someone called _barmy Bella_ who was fond of the Dark Lord, but I don’t know about you.”   
Draco bit his lip. “We can’t just disappear…”   
“Harry’s right. We can’t stay either. Call the house-elves, tell them to inform our parents that we’re going. That way they won’t panic.”   
“Call the Aurors.” Greg begged. “I don’t want her to risk finding us.”

“The longer we wait, the sooner she’ll come looking for Draco.” Harry argued. “We _need_ to get to the fireplace and Floo out.”   
“She’s downstairs, and so is the fireplace.” Draco huffed. “We’d be spotted immediately. Even if Barmy Bella didn’t see us, it sounds like her husband is with her. Maybe some others are as well.”   
“Cissy… I’m waiting…” The voice came again.

Harry bit his lip, before gathering his possessions, cleaning up the bedroll he’d been laying on, and creeping to the door.   
The others soon followed his lead, with the exception of Draco who simply flicked his wand to clean up his bed as though he’d never been in it.   
“Are there any creaky stairs?” Harry asked Draco softly.   
“None, but there are notable spaces between the banisters of the railings.” Draco whispered.

“Any other way down?”   
“None, unless you’d like to try the window.”   
Harry sighed, before slowly opening the door. Draco’s room was one of the most prominent, right next to his parents. Both overlooked the foyer, and on either side of each a hallway extended into unknown rooms.   
As Harry opened the door, Narcissa opened hers, stepping out more blatantly. She took notice of who was with Harry, then nodded.

“Bellatrix, this is a surprise.”   
Harry could barely see the wild mess of black curly hair that he assumed was Bellatrix, before Narcissa moved in front of him.   
“I wanted to see you, Cissy. And I brought some guests. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I _do_ mind, Bella. It’s the middle of the night.”   
“We’ll just rest quietly then.” Something about Bellatrix's voice told Harry she wasn’t the type to ‘rest quietly’.   
Narcissa sighed. “No… look at you, you’re all skeletal. Come into the dining room, the elves can whip something up while we talk about what you’ll do. But this is the first place they’ll check for you, Bella.”

“We can handle a few Aurors.” A man croaked. His voice reminded Harry of a knife on a plate.   
Narcissa descended the stairs. “Killing Aurors won’t help your case, Rabastan. The end goal is for you _not_ to return to Azkaban. And you certainly can’t serve Our Lord on the run.”   
“That idiot Sirius escaped and was set free.”   
“Sirius was never a Death Eater.” Narcissa pointed out. “In fact, I believe he was actually a member of that disgusting Order of the Phoenix.”

Bellatrix spat upon the floor.   
“Oh, Bella, don’t. The elves just cleaned that…” Narcissa huffed. “Now come along.” She led the Death Eaters into the dining room, across from the parlor where the fireplace was kept.

The boys snuck down the stairs, before creeping into the parlor.   
“Two at a time.” Harry breathed. “Draco, Blaise, you first.”   
“No, _you_ and me first.” Draco insisted. “We’re the ones she wants. Then Vince and Greg, then Blaise and Theodore.”   
“We’ll be a little late.” Theodore said. “We’ll go through St. Mungo’s so she loses the trail.”

Draco nodded. “Good idea. Come along, Harry.”   
“What, no, Blaise—”   
“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Draco called.

A few moments later, the two tumbled out into Dumbledore’s office. Fawkes squawked, and Draco pulled Harry out of the way. A few moments later, Greg and Vince followed suit.   
“What’s going on?” Grindelwald demanded sleepily, bursting as best he could out of Dumbledore’s quarters. “Oh… it’s Potter…” He fell asleep standing up, and Dumbledore prodded him gently. “Awaken, Gellert. Mr. Potter is not due back until tomorrow, and certainly not with this host of friends.”

Theodore and Blaise finally came through.   
“Did she see you?” Harry asked.   
“No, but the Night Guard at St. Mungo’s was confused. I didn't want him asking questions, so I just ran.” Theodore confessed.   
“Mr. Potter, do you want to explain what’s happening?” Dumbledore asked, sitting down at his desk.   
Grindelwald dozed off again, before jerking himself awake. “Ding dong ditch!”

“Forgive him,” Dumbledore remarked fondly. “He is accustomed to his sleep.”   
“Bellatrix… what’s her last name?” Harry asked Draco.   
“Lestrange. As well as both the Lestrange brothers and probably more.”   
“Right. They all escaped Azkaban and they’re probably still in Draco’s dining room.” Harry said.

“And Madame Malfoy had nothing to do with it!” Theodore piped up. The others all nodded.   
“This is quite serious.” Dumbledore stroked his beard whilst Grindelwald dozed off yet again. “Two escapes from Azkaban in one year, and one from Nurmengard… especially with those specific prisoners gone, I imagine an emergency court of the Wizengamot shall convene. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, boys.”   
“Fix the wards!” Grindelwald jerked himself awake again.

“Of course, Gellert. Tomorrow, I shall—”   
“Not tomorrow.” Grindelwald remarked grouchily, rubbing his eyes. “ _Now_. Severus Snape may have stood for the continued endangerment of his students, but not me. I’ll help you.”   
“Gellert, it’s the middle of the night. You’re falling asleep.”   
“The most insane followers of the Pretender are out to play –no offense, little Malfoy—and here are their number one target and some children they’d like to forcibly conscript. Come _on_ , Albus.”

“Gellert, you’re half-asleep. We must adhere to the tale of wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and ended up with a buffalo on his che—”   
“Are Charms teachers still trotting that one out?” Grindelwald demanded irritably. “Gods. Baruffio, or _Barussio_ as he’d say it, died over 300 years ago. Let the man’s legacy die with him already.”

Grindelwald stomped towards the door, apparently much invigorated, before turning and saying, “The French think the buffalo ended up on his wife’s shoulders, by the way. Confront me with what _everyone_ can agree happened if you’re going to talk about him.”

He slammed the door behind him. Dumbledore leaned back in his seat. “Well, nothing like a good argument to wake you up. Now boys, why don’t you proceed to your dormitories? Should Bellatrix Lestrange attempt to enter the castle before Gellert and I supplement the wards, the dormitories would be the safest place to be.”   
“I have no clothes.” Draco pointed out.

“I’ll give you some of mine.” Theodore offered. “Now, let’s go before Bellatrix Lestrange attempts to follow us.”   
“She wouldn’t…” Blaise protested as the boys made their ways to their rooms.

Back in Wiltshire, Narcissa raised an eyebrow as Bellatrix plopped a bag holding something wet onto her table. “Bella, what is that?”   
“It’s a gift for Draco.” Bellatrix smirked. “Don’t want him to turn out like Lucius, do we?”   
Narcissa narrowed her eyes, before gently prodding the bag with her wand, then levitating it. “Bellatrix, this table is an antique. I can’t have you leaving bloody parts on it.”   
The other Death Eaters glared at Narcissa.

“Prissy bitch.” One muttered.   
Bellatrix’s eye twitched, and she threw herself at him. “That’s my _sister_ you’re talking about! Show some damned respect!”   
“Lovely cake, Narcissa.” Rodolphus commented.

“Thank you, Rodolphus. It’s Draco’s favorite.”   
“Ah, my favorite nephew. Where is he?” Bellatrix asked.   
“We sent him to see Mother for the holiday. It’s a bit hard having children underfoot when one is planning a party.”   
“Oh, Cissy, not her.”   
Narcissa shrugged. “Now, what shall we do about your accommodations? The Aurors will be searching for you come the morrow, and as I said, this shall be one of the first places they look.”

One of the Death Eaters smiled nastily. “We can handle Aurors.”   
Narcissa wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I should hope you would just AK them. But even then, that doesn’t exactly help your case, does it? I propose you convince society that, like Grindelwald, you are weak and not a threat.”   
“We are not weak!” The Death Eater who called her a bitch stood, albeit wobbling a bit.

Narcissa stared at him calmly. “Of course you’re not. It’s a trick, you blithering idiot. If you aren’t able to deceive, I can hardly think why Our Lord would want _you_ as anything but pure muscle, and even that’s suspect.”   
He made as if to strangle her, though a flick of her wand sent him flying back against the wall.

Bellatrix began cackling madly. “Take that, you idiot!”   
Narcissa sipped her tea. “Sit down, Bella. You’re not going to like what I have to say next.”

“Oh? What?”   
“You’re going to need to prove you can all get along well with Muggles. This, coupled with hiding from the Aurors until news of your escape dies down, means that you should live in a Muggle suburban area. A few weeks after there is no incident, I will suggest surveillance to the Aurors. This will aid in them believing you’re no longer threats. Eventually, you may be able to be successfully reintegrated into society.”

The Death Eaters stared at her. Bellatrix burst out laughing. “You can’t be _serious_ , Cissy!”   
“Of course I’m not Sirius. I’m Narcissa.”   
The Death Eaters collectively groaned.   
“Cissy, we can’t live with Muggles! They’re disgusting, lowly creatures…”

Narcissa gracefully placed her teacup down on her saucer. “I am well aware of this, Bella. But it’s either living peacefully with the Muggles as though you’re some breed of Weasley, or Azkaban.”   
Bellatrix pouted. “Can’t we just kill all the Aurors?”   
“No, Bella. We can’t. You could _try_ to take over the Ministry alone, but it won’t end well, and everyone would panic that Our Lord would be coming back even though you wouldn’t have a chance to resurrect him. Do you want to fail Our Lord, Bella?”

Bellatrix’s pout deepened. “No.”   
“Exactly. So, you shall all go live in… Surrey, I should think? Yes, Surrey would do quite nicely. Close enough for us to maintain contact, but not close enough for the Ministry to become suspicious.”   
“We can’t torture the Muggles at all?” Rabastan Lestrange huffed.   
Narcissa smirked. “The Ministry would never believe a complete turnabout. Simply torment the neighbors a bit, not enough to break the International Statute of Secrecy, of course, but simple things. Enough of it might even drive the poor things mad.”

“Cissy I heard the wards—oh. Hello, Bellatrix.” Lucius huffed.   
Narcissa giggled, before planting a kiss on her husband’s cheek. “Darling, you’re a bit late. I just convinced my sister and her previously imprisoned cohorts to go live amongst the Muggles.”   
“Ah, I _thought_ I might still be asleep.” Lucius noted.

Bellatrix bared her teeth at him. “Traitor! You should have proclaimed the Dark Lord’s might, instead of denouncing him, and crying ‘Imperius’! My sister could have done much better than a mongrel like _you_.”   
Lucius glared at his sister in law. “Oh, yes. Like Fenrir Greyback? _Please_ , Bellatrix. Narcissa is quite content with me.”   
“Liar!” Bellatrix snarled.

“Bella, please don’t attempt to murder my husband.” Narcissa sighed. “Lucius is quite satisfactory, I assure you.”   
She leaned against her husband, who kissed the top of her head.   
Bellatrix huffed. “Lucius is like a show pony. Now _Rodolphus_ is like a purebred workhorse.”   
“I don’t think I like where this metaphor is going.” Lucius murmured to his wife.

Rodolphus grinned at his wife before pulling her into a messy, rough kiss.   
“My table…” Narcissa sighed.   
“Don’t worry, darling. We can get a new table.” Lucius eyed the bloody sack still lying on said table. “Um… what’s that?”   
“Something for Draco. I don’t care to know what it is.” Narcissa whispered.   
Bellatrix and Rodolphus eventually stopped making out on top of Narcissa’s prized table, and the former Death Eaters stood triumphant.

“Where were _you_ , Lucius, when the Dark Lord fell?” Bellatrix demanded. “What did _you_ do to proclaim his might?”   
“Bellatrix, I don’t know if you noticed, but my wife had _just_ had a baby a year before the Dark Lord fell. Even if I was as fanatic about Him as you, I would acknowledge that Draco couldn’t be left without a father. Since I’m _not_ as fanatic as you, I was quick to notice that we were _nothing_ without the Dark Lord. Did you see how quickly we fell to the Light once the Dark Lord disappeared? He was gone, and with him our organization. It wasn’t worth going to Azkaban for.”

“I should kill you right here and give your guts to Cissy.” Bellatrix hissed. “You betrayed Our Lord!”   
“I was looking out for myself. It _is_ the Slytherin way, after all.” Lucius pointed out. “Our Lord would understand.”   
“And I’d rather have my husband whole and living please, Bella. He’s much more useful this way.”   
“Ugh, Cissy! Why you bother with this ponce I’ll never know! The Dark Lord would be happy to give you a loyal follower as a new husband!”

Several of the Death Eaters grinned wickedly. Narcissa frowned. “No thank you, Bella. As I said, I’m rather happy with the one I’ve got. Now, we were discussing Surrey…?”

Several hours later, after a real estate agent had been given a rather large sum of money to be sold a house in the middle of the night, several people arrived at Number 6 Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey. Number 5 took special interest in the wild haired woman who stomped in. Number 8 happened to notice the graceful blonde woman alighting from the car as though she were some sort of aristocrat. Number 7 noted most of the men skulking in behind them (criminals, most likely).

Number 4 was silent at the moment, but all too soon would its inhabitants be home and ready to snoop on the neighbors on the left (for ‘good behavior’ from first-time offenders).   
Mrs. Morahan, who lived in number 3, along with her cats Rufus and Tiberius, took exceptional delight in the presence of these new and interesting strangers _right next to THAT house_. It seemed Christmas came right on time for her.

Harry Potter, previous resident of Privet Drive, awoke at 9:03am, and proceeded down to the common room.   
“Alright, Harry?” Seamus beamed at him.   
“We heard about Bellatrix Lestrange.” Dean added. “The Headmaster and Grindelwald have been reinforcing the wards all day.”   
Harry rubbed his eyes slowly. “That’s good… I didn’t see much of her, to be honest. Couldn’t risk her seeing us.”

Seamus and Dean nodded.   
“Ron sent a whole shitload of presents for ya.” Seamus pointed out.   
Dean elbowed him. “Language, Seamus.”   
“Alright, _mum_.”

Harry nervously picked his way around the rest of the Gryffindor’s piles to his. There was a note from the Weasleys thanking him profusely for all his gifts (it appeared his plan to hide a pyrotechnics book inside of a joke book for the twins had worked especially well, given the slightly singed nature of the letter). Underneath it was a new Weasley sweater (which Harry immediately put on), a box of homemade fudge (as always), and some treats from the rest of the Weasley clan as well, such as a scarf from Ron (to match the sweater), a handmade card from Ginny (depicting him flying about and smirking at Draco, which actually moved!), and a box of what appeared to be more fudge from the twins (somehow Harry doubted he should eat that).

Hermione sent him a book about Pureblood mannerisms (which Harry thought might help him in the long run, given his current friends), and from McGonagall, there was a top of the line pair of gloves for Quidditch, accompanied by a note reading, “I quite enjoyed the tartan muffler, hat and mittens. Happy Christmas, Harry”.

The Slytherins raised an eyebrow as one when they next saw Harry, bedazzled in an array of pajamas, the Weasley sweater, a matching scarf, and two Quidditch gloves tucked into his pocket.   
“Harry, were you attacked by some foul, cloth-based beast?” Theodore asked.   
“None of these clothes match.” Blaise sighed.

Draco just stared at him in abject horror. Harry whipped out the book Hermione gave him, and after flipping through a few of the pages, said, “The weather is very nice today.”   
Theodore’s eye began to twitch, and Draco began to stutter. Finally, both of them blurted out, “Yes, isn’t it?”   
Blaise blinked in surprise. “What did you do to them…?”

“It seems the way they were raised compelled them to be as polite as possible. They are physically compelled to respond to that statement.”   
“I just got so much more powerful.” Blaise breathed.   
“Don’t you dare, Blaise!” Draco hissed.   
“The weather is very nice today.” Blaise responded breezily.

“Yes, isn’t it? This isn’t funny, Blaise!” Draco hissed.   
“Correct, this is _hilarious_.”    
“How did you know about this, Harry?” Theodore demanded.   
“The book said that apparently one of the members of the Black family laid a compulsion spell upon his children to ensure that they were always polite. Every Pureblood in England will be triggered by that response.” Harry answered.

“Are there any more?” Blaise asked, interested.   
“There might be. I haven’t read the entire book.” Harry shrugged.   
Theodore paused in thought at this explanation. “I could almost fight it… hm.”   
Draco’s eagle owl interrupted any replies Harry or the others could have made to that statement.

Hedwig, following soon after, landed on Harry’s shoulder and screeched at the larger owl.   
“Diogenes!” Draco hissed. “Don’t bother the other owls!”   
Diogenes didn’t seem to heed his master, as he screeched back, landing on top of Draco’s head.   
“Ow, ow, ow!” Draco hissed. “Diogenes!”

“You two are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Harry sighed.   
“’Draco Malfoy vs. Various Birds’ would make an excellent television programme, you must admit.” Theodore pointed out.

“What’s ‘television’?” Blaise asked.   
Draco finally wrestled a letter away from Diogenes, and announced, “Mother wants to see me. Harry, you come too.”   
“What? Why me?”   
“Mother is going shopping in the Muggle world, and needs someone raised by Muggles. You’re closest.”

“Physically, or willing to put up with you?”   
“Hilarious, Potter. Now go get properly dressed, unless you wish the Muggles to think you mad.” Draco then squinted. “Do they dress like that?”   
“No, Draco.” Harry sighed. “Pants, and a shirt. Here, come with me. I think I have a few items that would fit you.”

Draco obediently followed Harry up to the Gryffindor common room, and obediently dressed himself in the clothes Harry gave him. (Though Harry apologized that they weren’t that nice.) Both boys then floo’d out of the Gryffindor fireplace, much to the consternation of Dean and Seamus who were cuddling in front of the fire before it was rudely extinguished.

“Can you tell McGonagall I went with Draco?” Harry asked.   
“Sure.” Dean said.   
“Why do you spend so much time with him?” Seamus demanded. “He’s a greasy—”   
Dean poked him. “Not on Christmas, Seamus. Besides, what about that book Harry got you?”

Seamus huffed. “Malfoy’s still a git.”   
“Oh, look, is that mistletoe?” Harry asked.   
Seamus and Dean both looked up, and Draco chose the moment they were about to kiss to throw down the Floo Powder.   
“As much as I like the idea of seeing Gryffindor’s Golden Couple tongue-wrestle, we’re on a schedule, Potter.”

Harry huffed, following Draco out of the fireplace into the dining room. “Don’t be rude to my friends, Malfoy.”   
“I’m not. Unless they deserve it. Like the Weasleys.”   
“Ginny won that duel fairly.”   
“Have you ever been attacked by your own snot? It’s not fun, Potter.”

“If I had been, I’d have to be called _Snotter_.”   
“I regret bringing you with me.”   
Narcissa chuckled behind her cup of coffee. “Hello again, Mr. Potter. Draco, duckling, what are you wearing?”   
“Muggle clothes. I put some charms on them to fit me, and to colour them.”

Narcissa blinked. “Freya… never mind.” She stood, revealing she was wearing a polka dot dress that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a 1960s homemaking catalogue. “Come along children.”

What followed was a flurry of buying clothes for men, and several for a woman, as well as multiple appliances, toiletries, various foodstuffs and furniture. Narcissa had apparently hired a magical moving company, the truck of which followed them into a very familiar suburb.   
“Draco… why are we here?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged.   
Narcissa patted her hair. “Because a friend of mine lives here. Mr. Potter, can you keep a secret?”   
“Yes’m.”   
“Because if you can’t, I will kill you and make it look like an accident.” Narcissa smiled slowly.   
Harry paled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “ _Mother_ , you’re embarrassing me.”   
Narcissa laughed as though Draco was a friend of hers who had just said something enchanting.   
Draco huffed. “Don’t worry, Harry. Mother is just teasing.”   
Narcissa shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Thank you for all of your help, Harry.”

“No problem ma’am.”   
The car stopped just past Number Four, the moving truck behind it. Narcissa smiled at the driver the Ministry had provided, before popping out with Draco and Harry in tow.   
The neighbors were immediately at attention. “It’s the aristocrat…”   
“She has the Potter boy…”   
“The new neighbors…”   
Whispers broke out all around them.

And then a shriek pierced the air. “You!”   
Harry nearly ran, noticing his aunt peering over the hedge at him. “Au-aunt P-Petunia…”   
“That’s your aunt?” Draco whispered, eyes bulging out of his sockets.   
Petunia advanced on Harry, a towering rage. “You little _freak_. Do you know what you did? Vernon is still in prison! My precious Diddykins is in foster care!”

Harry stared at her for a moment, before darting into Number Six Privet Drive.   
“Harry, no!” Narcissa called.   
Draco ran in after him, half-expecting to find his friend dead on the floor. The Death Eaters were all staring at Harry, as though they couldn’t believe their luck, with the exception of Bellatrix. Bellatrix was lying on the bare floor, reading what appeared to be an issue of a Batman comic.

“Harry Potter…” Rodolphus smirked.   
“Leave him.” Bellatrix ordered, without looking away from her comic book.   
“Trixie, you can’t mean that! He killed the Dark Lord--!”

Bellatrix silenced him with a look. “How could a _baby_ kill Our Lord, Rodolphus? He’s just a useless child. I _would_ like to torture him, but you heard Narcissa. Best behavior.”   
Harry decided that sitting in the midst of the Death Eaters who wanted to kill him was far better than going back outside to Petunia.

“Wha… Harry!” Draco huffed. “All of these people want to kill you!”   
“Still better than Aunt Petunia.”  
“She’s just one Muggle! How bad can she be?” Draco demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose.   
Harry rested his head on one of his hands. “Let’s just say be thankful _your_ maternal aunt routinely murdered people for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”   
“And don’t you forget it.” Bellatrix agreed, having turned back to her comic.

“I can’t believe… Bellatrix, why not just use your knife?” Rabastan Lestrange asked.   
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, and lowered her comic book. “Rabastan, you idiot, look at the bigger picture. Not to mention the Potter kid’s probably got all kinds of wards on him. Our Lord would only be pleased with a glorious battle, the boy’s tears falling as freely as his blood. I’m just not going to do it if I can’t get the whole experience out of it.”

Narcissa, having realized there was no imminent conflict, had waved the movers in.   
“You still want to stay here?” Draco demanded.   
Harry nodded. “Is Aunt Petunia gone?”   
Draco peeked out the door, making eye contact with Petunia. Petunia had apparently returned to her side of the hedge, seething.

“No.” Draco answered slowly. “But she can’t hurt you anymore.”   
“I’d rather not take the chance.”   
Draco gestured to the Death Eaters around them, before giving up. “Sometimes I really hate you.”   
“Don’t kill him, I’ll eventually want that honor for myself.” Bellatrix said from behind her issue of Batman.

Draco sighed, before moving back and helping his mother carry in clothes and handing them out.   
“The store wouldn’t let me buy multiple armoires at once.” Narcissa laughed. “Isn’t that the saddest thing you’ve ever heard?”

Harry eventually unpacked the groceries Narcissa had bought, as well as the toiletries.   
“Now, I actually brought Harry here because he was raised by that awful woman next door and knows about Muggle technology.” Narcissa beamed. “Come here, Harry.”   
What followed was a demonstration of the stove, the oven, the refrigerator, the microwave, the kitchen sink, the electric sink, the shower, the garden hose, the car, the television, the washing machine, the computer, and a tour of the various items Narcissa had bought.

“So… everybody got that?” Harry asked uncertainly.   
The Death Eaters nodded awkwardly.   
“I didn’t escape from Azkaban to be treated like a bloody house-elf…” Bellatrix muttered.   
“Well… you could get a job, and someone _else_ could do all the housework…” Harry said uncertainly. “I mean, someone’s got to get a job—you need money to buy shampoo and aftershave and food…”   
Bellatrix looked at Narcissa, who shrugged. “You can’t live off of the Malfoy money forever, Bella. I’m sorry.”

Bellatrix nodded slowly. “I’ll do it. For Our Lord.”   
“Great…” Harry’s exit was stopped by a rather large Death Eater. “Where do you think you’re going?”   
Harry tried to dodge around him, but the man grabbed Harry. Draco made as if to help him, but Narcissa pulled him back, covering his mouth.

Bellatrix slammed into the Death Eater, drawing her knife. “I said to leave the Potter brat alone! YOU ARE RUINING EVERYTHING!”   
Harry rolled away from the carnage as Bellatrix set to work on the Death Eater.   
“DON’T YOU EVER SCARE MY SISTER OR HER SON LIKE THAT AGAIN! I WILL DECIDE WHEN WE KILL HARRY POTTER, NOT YOU!” Bellatrix screamed.   
The Death Eater roared and thrashed as Bellatrix carved out pieces of his flesh, before she finally stopped. Calmly, she stood up, and walked over to Draco. Narcissa released him gently.

“Hold out your hand, boy. I left my old present for you back at Malfoy Manor, but they might have gone bad by now.” Bellatrix said quietly.   
Obediently, Draco held out his hand. Bellatrix dropped something bloody in his hand, and Draco paled.   
“What do we say, Draco?” Narcissa gripped her son’s shoulder tightly.

“Th-thank you, Auntie Bellatrix.” Draco ripped his eyes away from his ‘present’ to look at his aunt.   
Bellatrix beamed at him, before ruffling his hair with her bloody hand, the other still grasping her knife. “I remember I started a collection like that when I was your age. You take care of those—it took me years to get a pair from a Pureblood instead of a filthy Muggle.”   
Draco swallowed. “I-I will.”

“Good boy. We’ll bring the Black blood out of you yet.”   
The Death Eater who had attacked Harry began to whimper. Bellatrix, in response, began whistling. She made as if to return to her comic book, but Narcissa called, “Bella, you don’t want to ruin that with his blood.”   
“Right you are, Cissy. Always looking out for me.” Bellatrix washed off her hands in the kitchen sink, before returning to her comic book as if nothing happened.

One of the other Death Eaters made as if to clean up the one on the ground.   
“Leave him.” Bellatrix demanded from her spot on the new couch. “If he can stand on his own, he’s fit to remain with us. If he’s a weak mess, we’ll use him in the garden as fertilizer.”   
She turned slowly. “Rowle, I’d quite like a rose garden. We had a very nice one at the Black country house when I was younger.”   
She smiled, showing all her teeth. Harry knew for certain she meant every word she said, that she wasn’t off in some ridiculous flight of fancy. This, coupled with Petunia next door, led to the fervent hope he’d never have to return to this cursed neighborhood.

Thankfully, Narcissa chose this moment to usher the boys out, say farewell to her sister (and tell the Death Eaters they should all clean themselves up) and get in the car.

“Now remember Harry, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll leave you to my sister’s mercy.” Narcissa said in the car.   
“Can… can I talk about it vaguely?” Harry’s mouth was dry.   
“Of course. But mention where my sister is, and you might end up like our friend Yaxley.” Narcissa said quietly. “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Draco began to shudder visibly.   
Narcissa sighed, then kissed the top of her son’s head. “She’s family, Draco.”   
“I want to go back to Hogwarts.” Draco whispered.   
Narcissa nodded. “If that’s what you want. She would be angry if she thought you threw out her gift. Please don’t make her angry, duckling.”

Watching Draco and his mother, Harry was of the strong opinion that Hogwarts needed a therapist. Immediately.   

“Mr. Potter, I am sorry that I dragged you into this. I wasn’t thinking.” Narcissa sighed. “You as well, Draco. I had no idea she’d… well, I thought she might behave. That’s no excuse, is it?”   
Draco shook his head.   
“Draco, are you okay?” Harry asked.   
“Did your aunt ever give you a man’s _eyes_?!” Draco finally demanded.

“Er… no…” Harry sighed. “But at least you have friends you can fall back on. Me and Theodore and Blaise and Greg and Vincent and even the Gryffindors.”   
“The Gryffindors aren’t my friends.” Draco was no longer looking at the parts in his hands. Narcissa levitated the offending parts, and scourgified Draco’s hands, conjuring a jar with a stasis spell for Bellatrix’s gift.

She then placed the jar beside her legs as Draco and Harry talked.   
“And Gryffindor’s going to win the Quidditch Cup this year.” Harry smirked.   
Draco laughed. “No! What, you think all of you zipping around on your outdated brooms will beat _us_?”   
“It’s talent that matters, not the model of brooms.”   
Draco hit Harry lightly on the shoulder. “Sod off!”

Harry laughed.   
Narcissa smiled at both of them. Apparently Draco wouldn’t have to grow up _just_ yet. But Bellatrix meant _him_ and _he_ meant the gradual breakdown of everything Narcissa loved and stood for; her son, her husband, herself, her family name… Narcissa gave Harry a long hard look. If _this_ was what stood in the way of her life being destroyed, she had a lot of work to do.

Starting with not being stupid enough to bring the boy into a house full of Death Eaters.  


	19. In Which the Torrid Tale of the Reller family comes to light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 Chapters in 3 days??????? 
> 
> Nah, I'm just getting everything out before school starts. Also, I ran out of homework, so I don't know what else to do? You all benefit anyway so this is truly the best case scenario.

The rest of the holiday was fairly normal. Well, as normal as it could be. The Wizarding world went insane over the break-out of the Death Eaters, resulting in several people pulling their children into vacations abroad, or sending them back to Hogwarts early.

Hogwarts was relatively normal as well. Peeves was suspiciously quiet, but then it was revealed he had made an alliance with Grindelwald. Dumbledore’s office was full of complaints later that afternoon, and Fred and George had found a new mentor (who promised that he would not kill one of them). This led to Grindelwald obtaining the Maruader’s Map, which led to much more mischief.

When the rest of the students arrived for the new term (a few absent, having been placed into foreign boarding schools such as Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, or even Ilvermony) they were greeted by weary holiday boarders, their hair flashing various colors.   
“What… happened to you…?” Astoria asked Draco warily.

“Grindelwald said I wasn’t getting up early enough.” Draco yawned. His hair turned cerulean, and immediately lost all the gel he’d put into it.   
“Draco is the only one to warrant different styles.” Blaise whispered conspiratorily.   
“Grindelwald said something about goading out his true potential.” Theodore was reading an enormous book on trolls.

“Theodore, why are you hiding?” Pansy asked brusquely.   
“I-I’m not hiding…”   
Draco raised an eyebrow, then sneezed. His hair turned into large spikes in flashing red and gold.   
“Super saiyan!” A Hufflepuff called across the room.   
“I don’t know what that is!” Draco yelled back.

Pansy lowered the book, meeting Theodore’s eyes. “It’s not that bad. Draco looks much worse.”   
“You look like Snape.” Astoria piped up.   
Pansy glared at the younger girl. “ _Thank you_ , Greengrass. Your opinion here is _truly_ invaluable.”   
Astoria stuck out her tongue. “No need to be rude, Parkinson.”

“No need to comment on my soulmate’s hair, either. Why don’t you go running after the Girl Weasley? She _might_ pay attention to you, but then again, she’s not _your_ soulmate, is she?”   
Astoria scowled. “I-I know she’s not--!”   
“That doesn’t stop you from trailing after her like a little lost puppy. Did you honestly think that _you_ could compete with _Harry Potter_?”

Astoria’s eyes welled up with tears, and she turned and ran.   
“That went a bit far, Pansy.” Theodore noted.   
Pansy sighed. “I guess… I’ll talk to her later. C’mon, let’s try to fix you up.”   
“You’re not… mad?”   
“Why would I be mad?”

“You’re always very concerned with your image. And how everthing around you, including me, looks. I… I was worried you’d push me to the side until this blew over.” Theodore confessed.   
Pansy tilted his head up, meeting her eyes. “If I wanted a beautiful soulmate, I would have gotten Blaise. You know me better than that.”   
 “You _did_ just bully a First year for a standard observation.” Draco pointed out, rising from the table.

Blaise faked a yawn, and Draco yawned again. His hair turned into a neon purple pompadour.   
“It never gets old.” Blaise snickered.   
“Stop torturing the poor guy.” Theodore sighed.   
“ _Never_.”

Meanwhile, Ginny had noticed Astoria being upset and had gone after her.   
“Hey, what’s wrong?”   
“Do… do you like me?” Astoria asked.   
“Of course I like you—”

“No, do you like me _romantically_?” Astoria wiped her tears on her sleeve before looking up at Ginny questioningly.   
Ginny froze. “I… Astoria, I didn’t know you… look. I’m very sorry, but I just don’t think of you that way. But your friendship means a lot to me, and I don’t want to lose you…” She trailed off at the look on Astoria’s face.

“Would you _ever_ think of me like that?” Astoria breathed.   
Ginny fidgeted. “Maybe… maybe if Harry wasn’t…”   
“Don’t. Yes, or no?” Astoria wiped away the fresh tears.

“Not in this world.” Ginny admitted.   
“But… you fought for me.” Astoria’s voice was small.   
“To keep you from being forced into anything.”   
Astoria nodded slowly. “Thank you, Ginny.”   
“Astoria, wait. I’m sorry.”   
“It doesn’t matter if you’re _sorry_. You don’t like me like that, and nothing’s going to change it.” 

Ginny sighed. “No, it’s not, but that’s a cynical way to think about it. You shouldn’t deal in absolutes.”   
Astoria stepped closer. “I _do_ deal in absolutes, because that’s how I move on from problems. I’ll ask again. Would you ever feel the same way about me?”   
“No.” Ginny sighed.   
Astoria nodded, then quickly wiped her eyes and sniffled. “Can you tell my sister I went back to our rooms?”

“Of course.”   
Ginny returned to the Gryffindor table, feeling a bit awkward.   
“What’s wrong, Gin?” Ron asked.   
“Astoria… she was –or still is—infatuated with me. I just… what do you say to someone like that?”   
“I understand.” Harry nodded sagely. _His_ hair was chartreuse, which actually looked quite nice on him. It made his eyes stand out a bit more.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “No offense, Harry, but what you’ve had experience with is someone being infatuated with the Boy Who Lived. Not Harry Potter.”   
“True.” Harry conceded, before his eyes dipped to her ankle.   
Ginny flushed, and Hermione sighed. “That’s not important right now.”

“Did you hear something, Harry?” Ron asked.   
“You can’t be serious, Ron. It’s been _months_.” Hermione hissed. “I apologized! Soundly!”   
“Was I there for that?” Harry asked Ginny in a low voice.   
“No. She came round via the Floo and stayed outside his door for hours, begging him to talk to her.” Ginny responded.

Ron finally said something back to Hermione, and they devolved into a happy argument.   
“Anyway, Ginny, you were infatuated with the Boy Who Lived, so you know what it’s like to have someone not love you back.”   
Ginny cocked her head. “Oh? Even when we’re soulmates?”   
Harry smirked. “I thought it said _Harry Potter_ on your ankle, not ‘The Boy Who Lived’.”   
“True. And I guess I did all I could.” Ginny admitted. “I just… I feel like I really hurt her.”

“You did.” Harry agreed. “But you couldn’t help it.”   
Dumbledore tapped his spoon against his glass. “Attention, children. It’s been an eventful year at Hogwarts so far, and it may yet become more eventful. Rest assured, the Ministry has not decided to reinstate the Dementors. However, be forewarned that the wards in place are a bit jumpy, and you may still encounter some problems. And please, children, be on your guard.” He seemed back-breakingly weary for a moment, before brightening to his usual self. “Professor Snape has also left Hogwarts, so without further ado, may I present your new professor, Hector Dagworth-Granger!”

Half the eyes in the hall snapped to the tall, willowy black man with a wispy white beard and full head of hair. The other half snapped to Hermione.   
“Is he your uncle or something?” Harry whispered.   
Hermione frowned in concentration. “I shouldn’t think so. The names do have a certain similarity, though… hmm…”   
“Well, who is he?” Ginny asked.

Hermione looked up from her plate. “Hm? Oh. He’s the founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, and has done remarkable work on the theories surrounding the use of love potions and how they actually work on affection. Quite fascinating really.”   
In the Slytherin Common Room, which Astoria had just reached, Grindelwald was sprawled on a sofa, reading _Witch Weekly_ and commenting on the article.

“Oh, dear… no Melania, I don’t care how rich he is, you really _shouldn’t_ … oh no, she did.”   
Astoria sniffled. “What are _you_ doing here?”   
Grindelwald looked up from the magazine. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I just got rejected.”   
“Ah, I know what that feels like.” Grindelwald nodded sagely. “Did you Crucio your love’s brother, or did you kill their sister?”   
Astoria stared at him. “I didn’t do either of those things.”   
“Did you at least make plans to rule the world with them?”

Astoria shook her head.   
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “Children and their romantic inclinations these days. Well, I am sorry for your loss. But I’m sure they’ll come back one day, when you’re at the height of your power and are least expecting them.”   
“She’s got her own soulmate.”   
“ _Oh_. It’s one of _those_. Honestly I’ve never understood those people who want something different than what the Gods gave them, but I feel bad for you all the same.”

Astoria huffed. “On one hand, I have Ginny Weasley, who’s pretty, and smart, and funny, and cool, and amazing, and who beat Draco Malfoy effortlessly. On the other hand I have Draco Malfoy, who’s a spoiled, racist brat.”   
“So… the first one is your soulmate, right?”   
“No, the second one.”

Grindelwald shrugged. “I have often found that love is quite transformative. Example; I used to want to rule the world. Now I want to march children around a drafty castle. Another example: Albus used to be far too meddlesome. Now we have tea every night and he lets the children run amok.” He scratched his chin. “Maybe I didn’t do too well there…”   
“I don’t _want_ to love Draco Malfoy!” Astoria exclaimed.

“Love, as I said, can transform both of you. Or what you do to keep that love, more like. Yes… anyway, you’re both rich little Purebloods, so you’re going to be spoiled.” Grindelwald pointed out. “You’re probably both going to grow out of it. Point is; love is a form of control that you can use to expand an empire.”   
Astoria frowned. “I somehow don’t believe I should be taking advice from you. Where’s Professor Snape?”   
“He died.”

“Oh, dear.” Astoria bit her lip. “Well, in any case, I don’t think learning to control Draco is the best idea. Let’s put it on the backburner for now.”   
Grindelwald nodded. “Fair enough. I shall wait here for the rest of the Slytherins so we can go marching later.”   
“Marching?”   
“Oh yes. However… did you have dinner?”

Astoria shook her head.   
Grindelwald sighed. “Then you shall go to bed hungry.”   
“Hungry and heartbroken.”   
“Stop making everything so dramatic. Your lover probably doesn’t even know you exist—”

“Astoria!” Draco burst into the Common Room, sporting a cerise undercut.   
“Where did all your hair go…” Astoria murmured.   
“That doesn’t matter. I’m sorry about what Pansy said to you. I was going to fight her, but then I decided you might need help. Also I was hungry, so I stuck around the Great Hall a bit longer.” Draco admitted, gathering Astoria’s hands in his.

“More like you decided she was emotionally vulnerable and ripe for the seeds of adulation to be sown…” Grindelwald muttered underneath the magazine.   
Draco glared at him, and Grindelwald glanced up innocently. “This is a very interesting issue.”   
“You nicked that from Pansy and you know it.” Draco huffed, before turning back to Astoria.

“Pansy wasn’t the issue.” Astoria said. “Ginny was. She rejected me, Draco.”   
“I would never reject you.” Draco gathered her hands in his. Astoria raised an eyebrow, but didn’t object.   
“Draco Lucius Malfoy, I know nothing about you besides what my sister’s told me, none of which is good. I’ve seen you associate with Harry Potter and friends, so maybe you’re not a _huge_ prat, but that really remains to be seen.”

Draco huffed. “I’ve been trying to change for you since day one, Astoria. It’s always been all about you. Maybe you should try changing for _me_.”   
“I didn’t want you to change!”   
“You didn’t want me as a rude racist.” Draco pointed out. “You never would have wanted me like that anyway. I’ve been changing, but maybe _you_ should change.”

Astoria glared at him, and Grindelwald peeked over his magazine, before sighing and sitting up. “Sit down, little children. Opposite sides, please. It’s time for marriage counseling with Uncle Gellert. Now—you, boy. She is upset because the girl she truly has feelings for rejected her. She doesn’t care about you. Stop pretending you’re in a relationship already, which will come with time. All you’re doing right now is providing comedic entertainment for everyone else, so I honestly don't want to stop you. You, girl. He is right about you needing to change for him too, if you were actually dating, that is. Love is about give and take. Example; you give him the world, and then you take away life from his sister. It’s not that he gives and you take. If he’s changing himself and no longer upholding blood purity, as true as it may be, than you should do something nice for him too. Acknowledge him. Love is a partnership.”

“Astoria, I am willing to forgive you—”   
Grindelwald swatted Draco on the head with the rolled up magazine, turning his hair to a lavender rat tail. “Did you hear me? Do not cater to her every whim! You deserve as much love as her!”   
“Ow, ow! Alright!” Draco whined.   
Daphne Greengrass had apparently received news of Astoria, because she came barreling into the room.

“Astoria, are you alright?” She demanded, racing over. She glared at Draco. “Did he do this? Did he make you cry?”   
“No.” Astoria pulled her sister away from Draco. “He didn’t. Ginny Weasley did. She-she wasn’t interested in me…”   
“I’ll brew you a love potion.” Daphne promised.

Grindelwald and Draco looked stunned.   
“No! I want it to be for _me_.” Astoria insisted. “I don’t want magic to play a part in my love life, Daphne.”   
Daphne huffed. “Well, she just doesn’t know how great you are. Even Malfoy knows, and he’s a prat.”  
“ _Hey_! I’m right here!” Draco growled.   
Daphne looked him over. “Of course you are. Do yourself a favor and acquire a large hat, Malfoy. It looks like a pixie shat down your back.”

Astoria giggled. “Daphne, don’t. That’s rude.”   
“I don’t care. I’ll fix this for you—”   
“No, Daphne, you mustn’t.” Astoria insisted. “Gin-Ginny doesn’t want me. And no amount of badgering from you will change that.”   
“I could hex Harry Potter’s bollocks off.” Daphne offered. “You might win her over while he’s in the hospital.”

Grindelwald chuckled. “A girl after my own heart.”   
Daphne paled as the elder wizard revealed himself. “You!”   
“Oh, not this again. Yes, I am the famed Dark Lord, Gellert Grindelwald.”   
Daphne drew her wand. “On December 13th, 1943, you murdered my family!”

“He did?” Astoria and Draco asked in unison.   
“I did?” Grindelwald echoed. “Are you sure? I never reached Britain, little girl.”   
“Don’t call me that.” Daphne growled. “My mother’s father was Raphael Reller, son of Noah Reller.”   
“Oh… didn’t I kill your grandfather?” Grindelwald asked.

“ _No_. On the morning of December 13 th, Grandpapa went to visit a friend in Zurich.”   
“No, no… I made sure to kill everyone.” Grindelwald noted, stroking his chin. “I killed Noah a few days before the rest, and fearing their retribution, came to kill them. First the mother, then the young man, then the boy… then the young child… and then the baby. So I couldn’t have left your grandfather alive. I killed all four of Noah Reller’s sons.”

“The baby was a girl.” Daphne hissed. “That was my great-aunt Birgitta.”   
Grindelwald sighed in frustration. “It was? _Verdammt_. I was so sure I had killed them all. Well, water under the bridge, I suppose. You can’t kill me, girl. You’re… what are you, twelve?”   
“I am thirteen!” Daphne squawked indignantly.

“…right. Anyway, you have no hope of taking me on alone. _He_ hates you, and trust me girl, do you think your sister is the first woman I’ve let a potential soldier have for themselves to ensure their loyalty?”   
“You _monster_.” Daphne hissed.   
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, yes. I’m quite monstrous. This has been established already.”

“You murdered my family!” Daphne growled.   
“Making your grandfather the only inheritor of all that lovely Reller money. You should thank me. Besides, the statute of limitations has ended. You can’t blame me for killing a great-grandfather and his wife and children, especially if you never knew them in the first place.”   
Daphne’s eye twitched, and Astoria sighed. “Daphne, just go get Mutti.”

“No! That would take too long and he and Malfoy could do something heinous to you!” Daphne hissed.   
“Draco, are you planning on doing anything particularly heinous to me?” Astoria asked.   
“No?”   
“Are you planning to abduct me and make me your bride?”

“No.”   
“Are you planning to ravish me right here and now?” Astoria continued.   
Draco turned scarlet, and shook his head fervently, turning it into a puce mullet. “Of course not!”   
“Then I think _I_ can go contact Mutti.” Astoria decided. “Though really, what’s changed? We already knew he was in the castle.”   
“He’s head of Slytherin.” Draco replied as she went to her room.

“What happened to Snape?!” Daphne demanded.   
“He died.” Grindelwald said, before dodging another stunner from Daphne. “You need to work on your spells. And aim. And essentially everything about your dueling ability.” He pointed out.   
“Fight me like a man, and I shall show you what I can do! Stop running and dodging!” Daphne demanded.

Grindelwald rolled his eyes again. “I’m being merciful. I once brought Europe to its knees. The only one who ever triumphed over me was Albus, not that we’d ever hurt each other anyway. I fought scores of witches and wizards at once. You wouldn’t last five minutes in a real duel with me, and we both know it.”   
“I don’t care!”   
“Well, I _do_! If I hurt you, I die. And then Albus dies. And then…” Grindelwald paused in thought. “Would you become Master of the Elder Wand…? I have much to speak of with Albus.”

“The Elder Wand doesn’t exist!” Draco called from the sofa where he was now reading the magazine Grindelwald had left.   
“Of course it does.” Grindelwald hissed. “ _I_ found it! How do you think I ruled my corner of the world so easily?”  
“The Deathly Hallows are a bedtime story.” Draco huffed.

“Actually, Harry Potter has an invisibility cloak that’s rather great.” Astoria emerged from her room. “I heard Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley talk about it once.”   
“That doesn’t mean it’s _the_ cloak of the Third Brother, it just means it’s _an_ Invisibility Cloak.”   
“It hasn’t turned opaque yet.” Astoria argued, sitting down next to him.

“That just means it’s new.” Draco said dismissively.   
Astoria scowled at him. “Maybe _you_ have just never seen it.”   
“That is the nature of an Invisibility Cloak.” Draco agreed.   
Silence fell over them for a moment, broken only by Daphne yelling in German at Grindelwald.

“Draco?” Astoria asked sweetly.   
“Hmm?” He didn’t even notice as this latest sound turned his hair to salmon waves, falling gently on either side of his face.   
“What if Harry showed you his cloak?”   
“I still probably wouldn’t believe it was a Deathly Hallow.” Draco confessed, before looking at Astoria. “Did you get any dinner?”

“No.”  
“There’s probably still some left, or we could go raid the kitchens.” He offered.   
“Thank you Draco, but I’m honestly fine.”   
“Reller girl, look. Draco Malfoy is romancing your sister!” Grindelwald pointed out.   
Astoria flushed, and Daphne scoffed, not turning to see. “Of course not! Astoria would never do such a thing!”

“When we eventually get married, she’s not invited to the house for holidays.” Draco decided.   
“She’s my sister.” Astoria pointed out.   
“So? She hates me.”   
“Because you’re a git.”

Draco blinked rapidly in surprise. They’d been doing so well. Before he could retort though, Dumbledore fire-called the Slytherin common room. “Gellert? Are you there? There are some parents here who’d like to see you.”   
“I would love to, except I’m currently fighting a Slytherin Third Year.”   
“ _Why_?”   
“Because _she_ attacked _me_ , screaming something about vengeance for her great-grandfather. It’s all quite stupid.”

“Would that be the elder Miss Greengrass?”   
“Yes sir.” Daphne called.   
“Oh dear. Gellert, come through and bring Miss Greengrass with you. Actually, could you find the younger one as well? Their parents are here.”

“Done.” Grindelwald said. “Step back Albus, I’ll send them through.”   
“Wait, don’t—”   
Grindelwald picked Astoria up and tossed her in the fire, sending her up to the Headmaster’s office.   
Daphne screamed in horror, and Grindelwald levitated her in after her sister.   
Finally, he saluted Draco and stepped in himself.

Unfortunately, he collided with Mr. Greengrass. Astoria was seated on the floor, rubbing her head, while Daphne had been sprawled out behind her like a rag doll.   
Mrs. Greengrass had apparently come through first, and was seated across from Dumbledore’s side of the desk. Dumbledore was rubbing his head as well, and helped Astoria up. “I’m terribly sorry about that, Miss Greengrass.”

“It’s quite alright. It’s not your fault.” Astoria went to help her sister up, and the two of them stood behind their mother’s chair. Peneus soon joined them, sitting down next to his wife.   
Groaning, Grindelwald stood behind Albus.   
“Are you alright, Gellert?”   
“I collided in the Floo. _Don’t_ say you told me so.”

“Regardless,” Adalicia remarked in clipped tones. “The other parents who donate to this school and I were under the impression that this _thing_ would be kept away from our children. Astoria now tells me he is head of Slytherin.”   
“Gellert is serving as a temporary head until we can find a new one.” Albus admitted. “He won’t harm any of the students.”

Adalicia’s mouth was a thin line. “Do you realize what this man has done to my family? He murdered four innocent children –a baby among them—for fear of retribution after killing their father. And yet you would allow him near the Slytherins?”   
“Gellert has already done a lot. For example, he’s implemented an exercise regiment.”   
“Professor Dumbledore, I don’t _care_ about the exercise regiment. This man is a murderer, and if the need arises, I shall bring this to the attention of the school governors, of which my husband is one.”

Peneus nodded. “We take our girls’ safety quite seriously, Dumbledore.”   
“As any parent would.” Dumbledore agreed. “But surely you realize all the help Gellert can lend to the Greater Good… I was under the impression that you were not followers of Lord Voldemort during the First War. Gellert can help us bring him down.”   
Adalicia raised an ebony eyebrow. “Indeed? Well, you are correct about our feelings regarding Voldemort. But one does not scratch an itch with a steak knife. What you have effectively done is leave some of the most emotionally vulnerable children in _his_ hands, for the sake of the ‘Greater Good’. Voldemort is gone. _This_ is not. Remove him, or I will.”

“Madame Greengrass, there are extenuating circumstances that won’t allow me to do that.” Dumbledore pointed out.   
Grindelwald smirked at her.   
Adalicia leaned in close. “Listen to me, Albus Dumbledore. I will burn this castle to the ground if it keeps my daughters safe. He’s afraid of retribution, and rightly so. If he killed a baby to prevent it, I don’t have high hopes for my teenager and child in his care. Let me amend my previous statement; I’ll burn the castle down, with both of you in it.”

“Madame, that’s quite a colourful metaphor.” Dumbledore replied calmly.   
“It’s not a metaphor, Dumbledore. It’s a promise.” Adalicia said quietly. “But for now, I’ll settle for an alliance with Narcissa Malfoy. I highly doubt she’s happy about her son being in _his_ care.”   
“She’s _ecstatic_.” Grindelwald growled.   
Daphne’s eyes widened. “Mutti, we can’t. He’s bad for ‘Storia, we can’t let him have her!”

“Who, darling?”   
“Malfoy.”   
“Darling, Draco Malfoy is a child. Mutti needs him to get rid of a _monster_.”

Daphne huffed, but nodded.   
“I’m _not_ a monster.” Gellert growled. “Not like the Pretender.”   
Adalicia stared straight into his eyes. “Somehow, I doubt that. Now stay away from my children, or I will remove you myself, like an unsightly pimple.”   
“Your daughter attacked _me_.”

“She was avenging her great-grandparents, her great-uncles, and her great-aunt.” Adalicia responded calmly. “Daphne acted just as she should to maintain our family’s honor.” She rose from her seat gracefully, before turning and looking at Dumbledore. “Please remember that I do not make idle threats, Professor. Should the evil that plagued my family make any sign of returning to harm my daughters, I _will_ destroy it. What this would entail, I don’t know, nor do I care.”

She kissed both of her daughters on the head, then left. Peneus gave them both a quick hug.   
“You watch out for your sister now, Daphne.” He said fondly. “And ‘Storia, behave.”   
“Yes, Dad.” The girls said in unison.   
Peneus smiled behind his thick, walrus-like moustache, before following his wife into the Floo.   
A silence fell over the four left, and Dumbledore said tiredly, “I believe you two should return to your dormitory now.”

“Yes Professor.” Daphne said, before tugging her sister along by her wrist.   
“Thanks for your help.” Astoria mouthed at Grindelwald.   
“So, what do we do?” Grindelwald asked as the door shut behind them.   
“Do you have any ideas, Gellert?”   
“Set the castle on fire and blame it on her.” Grindelwald said immediately.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Well, we certainly won’t do _that_.”   
Grindelwald drummed his fingers on the table. “Do we really need to stay here?”   
“Gellert, Hogwarts is my home.”   
“Bit drafty.”

“ _Gellert_.”   
“I’m just saying—unemployment would give us the excuse we need to go looking for the Pretender’s horcruxes.”   
“Gellert, we don’t know how many there are. We wouldn’t know them if we saw them.”   
Grindelwald paused for a moment. “Well… we can make a list of places the Pretender is drawn to, and search them.”

“Search them how?” Dumbledore asked.   
Grindelwald beamed at him. “I was hoping you’d ask. Do you remember the Little Ghost Girl in the bathroom?”   
“Myrtle?” Dumbledore asked in surprise. “She knows where the horcruxes are?”   
“No, but she feels her ‘Tom’s’ presence in them.” Grindelwald clarified.

“Be that as it may, Myrtle is bound to Hogwarts.”   
“Who bound her?”   
“I believe it was Eugenia Jenkins, before she became Minister. Yes… of course’s it’s probably weakened substantially since her death. Don’t tell Myrtle, though.”

Grindelwald shrugged. “I will release the Little Ghost Girl, so what does it matter? She will accompany us on our quest to destroy the Pretender’s horcruxes.”   
“Gellert, as much as I like this idea, we have no idea where to begin, and _Harry_ must be the one to destroy Voldemort.”   
“Yes, a thirteen year old against an immortal wizard with decades of experience and innate knowledge of the Dark Arts. This will _surely_ end in our favor.”

“I thought you were going to train Harry?”   
Grindelwald shrugged. “I will work out those details later.”   
“Are you suggesting I allow myself to be fired, and whatever person the board of governors recommends becomes Headmaster, or Headmistress?”

“I’m saying you find something to do with yourself, because it’s inevitable. One governor and his wife having it out for you was bad enough—two is unlucky. Noah Reller was the equivalent of Pollux Black. Except he died later. Regardless—the Reller woman reminds me of Cygnus Black’s daughter. One of them, I can handle. Two of them, we can’t win. They’ll drag us through the mud if we don’t agree. Apparently people only applaud you for ruling most of Europe if you _win_ in the end. How absurd is that?”

Dumbledore sighed, before patting Grindelwald’s knee. “You always know how to cheer me up, Gellert.”   
Grindelwald smirked, leaning closer. “I know a _great_ way to cheer you up, Albus…”   
The Slytherins didn’t get their walk that night, partially because Grindelwald was tired, old, and cranky, and he was _not_ going to go wandering up and down those accursed staircases at night.

The next day, Professor Dagworth-Granger was late to Potions class (due to those same staircases).   
“Apologies, class. I haven’t been to Hogwarts in quite some time.” He said smoothly, straightening his robes. “Now, today, we shall be working on the girding potion. Can anyone tell me what it’s used for?”   
Hermione’s hand shot up, and Professor Dagworth-Granger consulted his seating chart. “Yes, Miss… oh. Miss Granger?”

“The girding potion is used for giving someone extra endurance.” Hermione said proudly.   
Professor Dagworth-Granger nodded. “Good job. Five points to Gryffindor. See me after class.”   
Hermione’s smile fell. “Wh-what…”   
Professor Dagworth-Granger had already moved on. “What colour should it be… yes, Miss Greengrass?”

“Golden.” Daphne answered.   
“I see Professor Snape taught you all well. Make two lines at the center of the room by house. Hurry, hurry. And then, sort yourselves by Potions abilities.”

The children shuffled themselves into two satisfactory lines, and Professor Dagworth-Granger smiled. “Wonderful. Now, Slytherin, turn yourselves aroundso your worst Potioneer is facing Gryffindor’s best.”   
More shuffling occurred.   
“The person you’re facing will be your partner for the rest of the year.” Professor Dagworth-Granger said. “Play nice, or else you’ll _both_ lose points.”

Harry raised his hand. “Professor Granger—”   
“Professor _Dagworth-_ Granger.” Said Professor corrected.   
“Yeah, Professor Dagworth-Granger, the Slytherins and the Gryffindors have never really gotten along. This could end disastrously.”   
“Or it could help fix some of the damage done by the House system.” Professor Dagworth-Granger replied smoothly. “Now get going—we only have so much time left!”

The children scattered, some collecting ingredients and some setting up their stations. The room started filling with tentative chatter, but instead of shutting it down, Professor Dagworth-Granger encouraged it (“so long as you keep your eyes on your cauldrons”) and moved around them, helping people who needed it.   
Only one cauldron ended up exploding, and most students left, satisfied that Professor Dagworth-Granger was better than Snape.  
“We’ll work on it.” Professor Dagworth-Granger promised Neville. “Five points to Gryffindor and Slytherin for making an explosive poison.”   
Daphne walked out of the classroom as though a broomstick had been shoved somewhere that the sun didn’t shine, and then there was only Hermione.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”   
Professor Dagworth-Granger brightened. “Ah, yes. Your grandfather’s name was Patroclus, wasn’t it?”   
“Yes…” She said slowly. “What about him?”   
Professor Dagworth-Granger pulled a clean piece of parchment out of his desk, along with a quill and ink. “Patroclus was my elder brother. He was, unfortunately, also a Squib. Papa disowned him –I assume that’s why he dropped the Dagworth—and Patroclus moved to the Muggle world. Our mother –the original Hermione Granger—was still very fond of him, and she _must_ have kept in touch.”

“I never heard anything about her.”   
“Really?” Professor Dagworth-Granger blinked rapidly. “Oh, my. Well, that doesn’t quite matter right now. The point is, Papa has passed on, and I’m sure that one of these days Mama would love to meet you.”   
“And my father?”   
Professor Dagworth-Granger looked away. “Well… perhaps it would be better if the original visit was just us. Mama doesn’t really want to take down her Muggle wards…”

“My father is technically a half-blood.”   
“Well, yes, but…” Professor Dagworth-Granger shrugged. “A Muggle.”   
“So is my mother.”   
Professor Dagworth-Granger brightened a bit. “Yes, but she must have had some Squib ancestry as well. So you’re technically a half-blood yourself. I’m sure you and Mama would have _loads_ to talk about. I can already tell you’re quite bright.”

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek, wondering if she should mention her feelings about his misgivings about her parents, before nodding. “Thank you, Professor. I should go, I have class starting soon.”   
Professor Dagworth-Granger nodded. “See you for third period, Hermione.”

Harry and Ron were waiting for her.   
“What did he want?” Ron asked, though he tried not to act interested.

“He’s my great uncle. He said I should go meet his mother, my great-grandmother, but basically that my father shouldn’t come. Because he’s a Muggle.” Hermione huffed.   
Ron scowled. “Doesn’t he know you’re a Muggleborn?”   
“He said that I’m a halfblood.” Hermione scowled as well. “And even though my father is technically one as well, he doesn’t count.”

Ron glared at the door to the Potions laboratory, before looping an arm around Hermione’s shoulder.   
“Does this mean you forgive me?” She asked in surprise.   
“Might as well.” Ron was blushing. “I mean, you _did_ apologize, both in person, and by owl.”   
Harry cawed.   
“And by Harry.” Ron added.

Harry nodded, before looping an arm around Hermione’s shoulders as well.   
“Mate… can you _not_?” Ron asked.   
“Oh… sorry. I thought this was a friendship moment.”   
“Well, kind of, but it’s also kind of a romantic moment…?” Ron shrugged. “I don’t exactly know how to describe it.”

“It’s fine, it’s cool.” Harry held up his hands in surrender. “We’d better get to Transfiguration before McGonagall turns us into a pot of spotted begonias.”


	20. In Which Something is Done About Grindelwald (ft. Augusta Longbottom)

“Lucius, you’ve returned.” Helen Clearwater noted with surprise at the weekly meeting of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. “I thought we booted you out.”   
“You tried.” Lucius sneered. “The Ministry looked at everyone’s memories and deduced I hadn’t actually threatened you all. Regardless of our feelings for each other, we come together under a common banner.”   
Surprisingly, it was Peneus Greengrass who began the meeting. “Albus Dumbledore has kept Gellert Grindelwald near our children. Not only that, Grindelwald has now been promoted to head of Slytherin in Severus Snape’s absence.”

Everyone began talking at once. The chair, Augusta Longbottom, banged her gavel. “ _Shut it_. Smith?”   
“Albus Dumbledore knows what he’s doing. Perhaps we should simply ask Grindelwald to be removed. After all, he _is_ serving his punishment.” Armand Smith said.   
“Well, that’s stupid.” Lucius noted.   
“Do you have a better idea, Malfoy?” Smith snapped.

“Actually, I do. Once again—get rid of Dumbledore. He put the Philosopher’s Stone there. The basilisk attacks had nothing to do with him. He hired _Gilderoy Lockhart_ , and the _Dark Lord_. There’s probably also something wrong with Lupin, as Dumbledore can’t hire a _normal_ teacher to save his life. Grindelwald is only there for him, and he gave Grindelwald the post in the first place. Dumbledore was once a great wizard, but he’s _ancient_. Let the poor man leave his post peacefully, so we can instate _proper teachers_.”

“Malfoy, every meeting we have, you say ‘get rid of Dumbledore’.”   
Surprisingly, Peneus spoke up once again. “Actually, I think this finally has some merit. We all remember what Voldemort was to us. Grindelwald was that to our parents. Why let him remain near our vulnerable children? Dumbledore won’t get rid of him, even though both my wife and I, and according to Adalicia, Malfoy and Narcissa, have spoken to him about it. Likely countless others have as well. Lucius Malfoy may be a prick, but he finally has a point about getting rid of Dumbledore.”

Augusta Longbottom drew herself up to her full height. “Peneus, are you sure?”   
“As sure as I can be. He personally dispatched my wife’s family. Daphne has already gotten into a fight with him. I’d rather we nip this in the bud.”   
“I stand with Peneus.” Helen added. “Penelope is in her final year, but we _cannot_ let a murderer near our children like this. Quirrell already slipped through our fingers, and look what happened. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in our school, and later released a basilisk upon our babies. Dumbledore is a great wizard, yes, one of the greatest, but we _cannot_ let him remain in this position of power as long as he makes decisions like this.”

“I heard he left Harry Potter—” Lucius began.   
Augusta waved her gavel in his face. “Malfoy, when I said shut it, I meant you. The Ministry may have absolved you, but the rest of us still think you’re a nasty man who threatens children and gets away scot-free.”   
“You signed the paper for Dumbledore’s removal, battleaxe!” Lucius snapped.   
“Because you slipped it into Neville’s tuition cheques while I was distracted.” Augusta replied. “Now shush, Malfoy. All those against removing Dumbledore?”

Armand Smith and the rest of the Hufflepuffs raised their hands, as well as one of the other Gryffindors.   
Augusta pointed her gavel at each of them in turn. “Sit down, Armand. You’ll only make a fool of yourself. Amelia, Amos, Aradhya, in that order.”

“You’ve sorted us alphabetically, Augusta.” Amos grinned.   
Augusta pointed her gavel at him. “It’s not your turn, Amos.”   
Amelia Bones stood. “Dumbledore has been a supporter of the Light forever. We cannot choose our soulmates. So far, Grindelwald has not reneged on any of his promises—I know more about our country’s safety than anyone, but having weighed our options, I can only say that loosing Grindelwald on most of Wizarding society is not worth losing Dumbledore.”

The room burst into conversation. “So we should let him near our children?!”   
“Just because he hasn’t _yet_ , doesn’t mean he _won’t_.”

Augusta banged her gavel sharply. “Order! Amos?”   
Amos Diggory stood. “You all know me as a plain man, a simple man—”   
“We’ve heard this speech every time you want to say something.” Augusta huffed. “Get on with it.”   
“Right, well… we’ve all stood behind Dumbledore in the past, and not once has he failed us. Why not put our trust in him once again?” He then sat back down.

“Is that it?” Augusta demanded.   
“You cut it off before I could make my proper introduction.” Amos said defensively.   
“Aradhya?” Augusta asked.   
Aradhya Patil stood gracefully. “As you all know, I like to weigh all of my options before giving into them. However, this time, I find that I cannot sit back and see Albus Dumbledore removed. Do you remember last year, what Rubeus Hagrid said to this very group? How ‘the Muggleborns wouldn’t stand a chance without Dumbledore’? Why would that not be true again? Grindelwald hasn’t struck yet, but maybe Grindelwald isn’t the problem. Dumbledore will maintain Grindelwald wherever they go. Without Dumbledore at Hogwarts though, the _children_ might turn on each other. I do not wish this to happen.”

“Well said, Aradhya.” Augusta said as the darker woman sat down. “Anyone else?”   
Lucius raised his hand. Augusta looked past him. Zinnia Parkinson raised her hand.   
“Zinnia?”Augusta called upon her.   
Zinnia stood. “I resent Madame Patil’s accusations. For one, the teachers have all the students well in hand. They will hardly attack one another with a basilisk anymore. As for an _owner_ of said basilisk, we need look no further than Madame Patil’s own house. For another, what children specifically would be attacking the rest? Every member of the board is Pureblood, so I for one cannot imagine what Madame Patil is worried about in regards to the Muggleborns. Unless… Madame Patil meant something else…?”

Aradhya’s face remained impassive. “I cannot imagine what Madame Parkinson means.”   
“Adam?” Augusta called, looking at the Ravenclaw section. Adam Goldstein stood quickly. “Grindelwald is a _monster_. Most of you don’t know, don’t _care_ , but the man was literally in league with the Third Reich. Do you know what they, what _he_ did to people like my son and myself? I could never in good conscience let him, or anyone who makes excuses for him, remain at Hogwarts without taking some form of action; and you can bet that the minute his history ‘leaks’ to Hogwarts, all the Muggleborns will be pulled out. Some won’t return to the Wizarding World. Our numbers can’t take it, especially over an old man.”

“Passionate.” Augusta noted. “Interesting, coming from you. Actually, it’s interesting who has been the most passionate about Grindelwald’s removal, now that I think about it…”   
“We’re not here to hear your opinions.” Lucius ground out.   
Augusta gave a sigh of long-suffering. “Malfoy, did your mother never teach you to shut your mouth when your elders are speaking? Who do we have left to hear from?”

Millicent Edgecombe raised her hand from the Ravenclaw section.   
“Millicent?”   
“I have no true position, but I urge you all to think of this from a different point of view. My fellow Ravenclaws, we must use our minds to the fullest. Would Hogwarts be better with Grindelwald in its hallowed halls, or better without Dumbledore guiding her? Gryffindors, be prepared for change, for that is what takes the most bravery. Would you be able to face Dumbledore being gone? Hufflepuffs, I am taken to understand you act with the best intentions of everybody in mind. Both Grindelwald and Dumbledore are old men, unlikely to go on killing sprees. But as Lucius Malfoy has raised before, would _Dumbledore_ endanger your children as well? Finally, Slytherins.” Millicent paused here for a moment, before saying, “Please try not to vote with just yourselves in mind.”

The Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs all chuckled, as well as Peneus. Zinnia Parkinson looked as though she had eaten something sour. Lucius pouted, which was a look far more befitting for Draco than him.

“Is that everyone, then?” Augusta asked. “Dermot? Helen? No? Alright then, let’s move to voting procedures.”   
A wave of her wand locked the door. Another dimmed the lights.   
“I call upon the representatives of the House Hufflepuff. Amelia Bones, what say you?” Augusta asked.   
“I say nay.” Amelia replied.   
A golden tally appeared in the air.

“Amos Diggory, what say you?”   
“I say… aye.” Amos replied, almost apologetically. Another golden tally appeared across from Amelia’s.   
“Armand Smith, what say you?”   
“I say nay.” Armand huffed. “And if Amos knew—” Another flick of Augusta’s wand silenced him.

“I call upon the representatives of House Ravenclaw. Helen Clearwater, what say you?”   
“I shall abstain.”   
“Millicent Edgecombe, what say you?”   
“I say aye.”   
“Adam Goldstein, what say you?”

“I say aye.”   
“I call upon the representatives of House Gryffindor. Dermot McLaggen, what say you?”   
Aradhya shook him awake. “Hmm? Oh. Uh, I shall abstain.”   
Augusta rolled her eyes. “Aradhya Patil, what say you?”   
“I say nay. Augusta Longbottom, what say you?”

“I say nay. I call upon the representatives of House Slytherin. Peneus Greengrass, what say you?”   
“I say aye.”   
Augusta tried (and failed) to hide her disgust at the next representative. “Lucius Malfoy, what say you?”   
“I say aye.”   
“Zinnia Parkinson, what say you?”   
“I say aye.”

Augusta banged her gavel. “With six votes for, four votes against, and two abstentions, the motion passes. Clapping is… in order.”   
Adam Goldstein began applauding full-heartedly, as did Peneus and Lucius. Dermot McLagggen looked around in a confused manner before joining in. “Why are we clapping? What did we do?”

“We got rid of Dumbledore, you twit!” Amelia Bones hissed.   
“Oh dear.” Dermot stopped clapping. “Guess there’s nothing to be done for it now.”   
“Their motion would have passed _without_ your help. Helen also abstained.” Aradhya Patil patted his shoulder comfortingly.   
“Regardless, as the Board of Governors, we _all_ must now sign the resolution regarding the removal of Albus Dumbledore.” Augusta huffed.

She conjured it immediately, as well as a quill, then signed it herself before passing it to Dermot. Dermot signed it with a flourish (he prided himself on having the largest signature), before passing it to Aradhya. And so it went, around the table, until it reached Zinnia Parkinson, and she passed it once again to Augusta Longbottom.

“By this time next week, I expect you all to submit a new candidate for Headmaster or Headmistress. I also think, given the situation, we should all inform Dumbledore and Grindelwald of the fact that they must leave Hogwarts.” Augusta said. “Come along.”   
“We are not dawdling children, Augusta.” Amelia said. “Besides, I have work to do.”   
“Which was put off for the meeting of the Board.” Augusta reminded her. “Although, Malfoy, I don’t care if you stay here.”

“Wha— _me_?” Lucius asked in surprise. “I’m a perfect angel!”   
Every member of the Board, including the Slytherin faction, rolled their eyes.   
“I _suppose_ you’ll be coming then.” Augusta sighed. “Pity.”

Students stared at them as they passed, headed once again by their chair. It wasn’t everyday _one_ governor came to the school, let alone all twelve. Most students had no idea what they were, but that particular combination of people never spoke well for anyone. Neville nearly fainted.

“So Peneus… your daughter, my son…” Lucius began somewhat awkwardly.   
“Oh yes, Daphne has told me all about Draco.” Peneus replied distractedly.   
“No. _Astoria_ and Draco.” Lucius corrected.

“Astoria doesn’t seem to like Draco that much.” Peneus said plainly, and Lucius clutched a hand to his chest. He was no Narcissa about it, but _not like Draco_? That was impossible. Everyone who was anyone liked Draco, because Draco was a Malfoy.   
“Why?”   
“Lucius, you _know_ Adalicia’s and my feelings about blood purity. You also know that you sent your son to school espousing every pro-pureblooded slogan you could find, even though the boy can’t possibly know what they all mean yet. My daughters have been raised with an open mind, and they don’t like Draco’s closed one.”

“Peneus, you’re a pureblood. You’re part of the Sacred 28.”   
“I’m just saying, Lucius. There’s a big difference in mentality between all members of the 28. Arthur and Molly Weasley are both Purebloods—but you would never question why _they_ wouldn’t like Draco.”   
“Because they’re Weasleys, Peneus. _Weasleys_.”   
“They’re as related to you as I am.”

Lucius sighed, exasperated. “I just want to begin negotiations with you.”   
“I thought it was agreed by Narcissa and Adalicia that Astoria and Draco would do their own. ‘Storia’s quite sharp, Lucius. I have every faith in her.”   
“But obviously there are properties that you’d like to leave to Daphne…” Lucius tried.

“My daughters are more than capable enough of deciding which one wants which house before Astoria is married.” Peneus pointed out. “Besides, Astoria has Adalicia’s sense of business. I, unfortunately, don’t. Therefore, Adalicia has forbidden me from making any deals with you without consulting her first.”

“But what about the—”   
“Oh look, we’re here.” Peneus cut the other man off as Augusta stood in front of the gargoyle. “Open this instant.”   
“What’s the password?”   
“I’m overriding whatever sweet treat Albus Dumbledore named as his password, since I am Chair of the Board of Governors.”

The gargoyle was silent for a moment, before swinging open. “Wait, all twelve of you…? Oh my.”   
“Albus Dumbledore…” Augusta began, trailing off when she noticed Dumbledore was unfortunately busy snogging Grindelwald.

“Oh dear, Gellert, I believe they mean business.” Dumbledore gently pulled Grindelwald away as he noticed the governors.   
“’Dear Gellert’… I like that.”   
Dumbledore laughed. “Gellert, not now.”

Grindelwald slid off Dumbledore’s desk, skulking around the room.   
“Albus, it’s quite unfortunate, but you –and _him_ —have been fired.” Augusta fixed Grindelwald with a glare when she mentioned him, and he froze like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.   
“I cannot say that I am surprised, but I’m certainly disappointed.”

Despite Adam Goldstein watching Grindelwald like a hawk, he still managed to sidle up to Lucius.   
“Didn’t I… how did you fix it…?” Grindelwald mused.   
“What?” Lucius asked.   
“Hmm… there.” Grindelwald turned Lucius’ carefully maintained locks into a fuchsia pompadour.

Approximately three alarms went off at the same time.   
“Ah… that was not the boy then… I was wondering how he got so tall.” Grindelwald said.   
Lucius’ eye twitched. “Grindelwald…”   
It started as a giggle from Helen Clearwater. Then Aradhya Patil covering her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. Within minutes all the governors (with the exception of Lucius) were laughing, along with Dumbledore chuckling quietly.

Grindelwald, sensing his imminent death, decided that it wouldn’t be wise to fight Lucius in such close quarters and ran out the door. Lucius, shocked out of his earlier position, gave chase.

“WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, I WILL RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!” Lucius screamed at Grindelwald. “MY HAIR IS INSURED FOR THIRTY THOUSAND GALLEONS!”   
“Do you ever wonder how much of Draco is how Draco was raised, and how much is purely his parents?” Theodore asked as Grindelwald and Lucius passed them.

“Only when things like this happen.” Blaise confessed. “But really, whenever I see his parents, I see the resemblance to him. Perhaps that will be Draco running down a hall one day, with hair insured for 30,000 galleons.”   
“What about thirty thousand galleons?” Draco asked, stepping out of the classroom.   
“Your father’s here.” Theodore said, at the same time as Blaise who said, “Grindelwald messed up.”

“Ah. Yes, Father’s hair _is_ insured for 30,000 galleons, second only to Mother’s. Hers is insured for 30,500, because she couldn’t let him have the last word in anything.” Draco nodded. “Now what was this about Grindelwald?”

Lucius’ yells echoed off the walls.   
“His hair is fuchsia.” Theodore held Draco’s now scarlet locks between his fingers.   
“Oh dear.” Draco said, before smacking Theodore’s hand away. “I doubt this is covered by his insurance.”

“COME BACK HERE, GELLERT GRINDELWALD, AND FACE MY WRATH!” Lucius howled.   
“This is normal.” Harry commented as the Golden Trio exited another classroom separate from their Slytherin friends.   
“For us, at least.” Ron agreed.

Hermione squinted at the quickly retreating figures. “Was that… Draco Malfoy who just ran past?”   
Harry shook his head. “Too tall. Lucius, probably.”   
“Plus Malfoy’s voice isn’t that deep.” Ron added.

“My voice is plenty deep.” Draco sulked, appearing out of nowhere with his Slytherin friends in tow.   
“Ah, demon!” Harry cried out reflexively.   
Draco looked unamused. “Rude.”   
“I think he was talking about Theodore.” Ron snickered.

Said Slytherin was sporting a magenta hairstyle sweeping upwards several feet, with various vegetables poking out of it.   
“Is that a Georgian wig?” Hermione asked in surprise.   
Blaise snickered, and nodded, before high-fiving Ron.

“Traitor!” Draco pointed an accusing finger at Blaise.   
“If it means not losing my excellent hair, then sure.”   
“His hair _is_ excellent…” Theodore noted.   
“Not _now_ , Theodore!” Draco hissed. “Blaise has deserted us for the Gryffindors. It doesn’t even _matter_ —look at Potter!”

Harry’s hair was, in fact, now a beautiful shade of aquamarine.   
“The Gryffindors all have very pretty hair, Draco.” Blaise hissed, stroking Harry’s chest.   
“Personal space, please.” Harry noted. “I don’t even have any hair there.”

“What? Oh, right. Wait, what was that last part?”   
“Blaise, don’t sexually harass Harry.” Ron said, pulling his friend away from the Italian.   
“I’m not! I’m trying to see if he knows where to get a good manscaping appointment.”

Harry blinked rapidly. “Manscaping…? Is that a thing?”   
Theodore slowly shook his head.   
“Blaise, he’s thirteen. You’re thirteen. We’re all thirteen. _None_ of us wax.” Draco pointed out, before looking questioningly at Hermione. “Unless…?”   
“Don’t finish that, Malfoy.” Hermione warned.

“Understood. Now—to Transfiguration!” Draco struck a pose, and Blaise gasped. “That’s my job…”   
“Are… we supposed to pick you up and carry you?” Harry asked tentatively.   
“That would indeed be appreciated.” Draco agreed.   
Theodore and Harry looked at each other, and Theodore shrugged. “I’ll take the arms, you take the legs.”

“Alright…” Harry responded. Draco’s pose fell as Theodore grabbed him by the armpits and Harry grabbed his feet.   
“I would have preferred to be carried over your heads, but fine.” Draco grumbled.   
“Be lucky we’re doing this for you at all.” Harry huffed.   
Blaise turned to the other two Gryffindors. “Well?”

“No.” Hermione said at the same time as Ron said, “Well, _what_?”   
Blaise slung an arm around both their shoulders. “I bet when the three of us meet up again in twenty years, you won’t be able to resist me.”   
“Resist… carrying you around… like a corpse?” Ron asked. “Because that seemed to be what you wanted?”

Blaise laughed. “Oh, you’ll see. This’ll all change in twenty years.”   
“Stop touching me.” Hermione told him.

In Transfiguration, McGonagall began blinking quite rapidly. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott, is something the matter with Mr. Malfoy? Is he incapable of walking on his own?”   
“He’s just being dramatic.” Harry assured her.   
Theodore shook his head, making his hair wobble. “Draco is unfortunately terminally ill. His last wish was to get to class.”

“Hardly. I’m not Granger.” Draco snorted, before pausing. “Hey, Theodore, wasn’t Granger in Ancient Runes with us?”   
“That’s impossible, Hermione was in Divination.” Harry replied, dropping Draco brusquely.   
“No, no, she _was_. She asked Professor Babbling about how the runes translated into the religious matters…” Theodore scratched his chin thoughtfully, unfortunately dropping the rest of Draco in the process.

“Like I said, that’s impossible. She even came out of the room with Ron and me, remember?”   
“I think you two should focus on the lesson, rather than Miss Granger’s timetable.” McGonagall huffed. “As for you, Mr. Malfoy, being dropped upon your bottom is punishment enough for having Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott carry you about as though you are the wizard Merlin himself.”

Draco groaned, turning his hair to a silver ponytail much like his father’s before Grindelwald got to it. “I would imagine Merlin was carried much more respectfully.”   
“Don’t expect us to do anything nice for _you_ again then.” Harry said, taking his seat as other students entered.   

Meanwhile, Dumbledore and the governors had located Lucius and Grindelwald, and thrown up an invisible wall that Grindewald ran right into.   
“Albus, I’m an old man.” Grindelwald whined, rubbing his nose.   
“My apologies, Gellert, but as amusing as it was to watch you be pursued by Lucius Malfoy in such a manner, you need to help me clear out my office.”

“And _where_ are we going?” Grindelwald asked, interested.   
“Why, Gellert, I was planning on letting you choose.”   
“Bottom of the Black Lake. Barring that, the Forbidden Forest.” Grindelwald said immediately.   
“ _What_?!” The governors demanded.

“The point of getting rid of both of you was to get you _away_ from the children!” Amelia Bones hissed.   
Gellert shrugged. “Hogwarts is archaic, and you don’t even make children march around snowy ruins like Durmstrang. Why not implement _good_ educational matters, instead of getting rid of Albus? Also, you can’t stop me from living in the Forbidden Forest if I want.”   
“You should have been sent back to Nurmengard!” Adam Goldstein hissed.   
Grindelwald silenced him with a flick of his wand. “I rather like your rainy cold part of the United Kingdom. So I shall remain here, training children to reject stupid people from the shadows. Albus and I are more than capable enough of making a house for ourselves in the forest, so don’t bother.”

Augusta Longbottom glared at him. “We were not offering our help, you sad excuse for a man.”   
“Then scurry off to whatever you were doing.” Grindelwald ordered. “Albus and I have rather a lot of work to do.”   
Augusta narrowed her eyes. “I will not let _your_ type boss me about like a house-elf. You and Albus Dumbledore will go somewhere else, somewhere far away from Hogwarts and my grandson, or I will show you what I would do to your successor if he ever dared set foot on Longbottom land.”

“Are you talking about the Pretender? I hate him.”   
“Excellent, that’s the first good choice you’ve ever made in your life.”   
“Madame, please, I don’t want to hurt—”   
Augusta slapped him in the face with her handbag. Grindelwald blinked, stunned.

“You will not talk down to me, _Gellert Grindelwald_. You’re twice my age, and the sort of man I used as an example of monsters in the world to get my son and grandson to behave! I don’t care where you go, as long as it’s not here!”   
Half the governors burst into applause.

“Augusta, I assure you, Gellert is harmless to the children of Hogwarts.” Dumbledore tried to assure her.   
Augusta whirled on him. “What about when they graduate? What about the rest of the Wizarding World? I voted for you to remain, Dumbledore, but you _cannot_ defend him. He is a vile man who you should have killed that day in 1945. Now it’s led to both your downfalls. Do what you will with him, but keep him away from Hogwarts. I don’t care if you have to lock yourself away to do it. If this… bastard… ever lays a finger upon my Neville, I will drag him about, conjure a noose, hang him until he’s on the brink of death, then cut him down and cut him _open_ while he’s still alive, disembowel him, behead him, and cut the rest into four pieces. I’m sure no one here would particularly mind my doing so.”

“As head of the MLE, I can’t endorse this. As a school governor, and your friend, I wholeheartedly support this.”Amelia Bones added.   
“She’s a little old woman.” Grindelwald whispered loudly to Dumbledore. “I can take her on.”   
“Don’t underestimate her, Gellert. Augusta Longbottom is a very formidable duelist, and is quite evocative of her house’s symbol when her family is threatened.” Dumbledore whispered back.

“And Malfoy, the bit about my Neville applies to you as well.” Augusta growled. “If you, or any of your Death Eater friends hurt him, the next time I visit Narcissa I will be sure to give her your head and any… bits. Being a good, proper woman, I can’t exactly say _what_ I would give her, but I’m fairly certain you understand my meaning.”    
With that, Augusta Longbottom turned and left, the rest of the governors following her.

“So… forest?” Grindelwald asked.   
“I thought it was the Black Lake you were interested in.” Dumbledore smiled.   
“Ah, yes. But then I remembered, I can’t actually breathe underwater.”   
Dumbledore laughed. “Come Gellert, we have much to discuss.”   
“Fine, but we can’t live somewhere too populated, because then people ask questions about where we are and where we’re going, and I want to remain close to the castle to make sure the children aren’t ruined. The little old woman who yelled at me can be a teacher, though. I quite like her. ”   
Dumbledore chuckled. "Somehow, while I don't disagree with you, I doubt Augusta has either the time or the inclination to do so." 

Some time later in Wiltshire, Narcissa sighed, casting another spell to try to get Lucius' hair back to normal. "Did you hear what he said?"   
"I told you, I didn't." Lucius whined.   
"Hold still." Narcissa cast another spell, this one with more intricate wandwork. Lucius' hair snapped back to normal for a moment, before turning into a cerulean widow's peak and nothing else. 

"Oh my..." Narcissa muttered.   
"What?" Lucius asked.   
"Nothing, dearest. Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, come here and lend me some of your magic so I can return Master Lucius' hair to normal." 

Three house-elves popped into existence next to her.   
"Who did this to Master Lucius? Flopsy shall hurt them!" Flopsy vowed.   
"All in good time, Flopsy." Narcissa promised. "For now, all three of you channel your magic into me." 

All three house-elves popped into existence, and Narcissa cast the previous spell again.   
The ends of Lucius' hair smoked, and his face seemed a bit sharper, but he looked normal.   
Narcissa peered at him. "Lucius darling, did you have a glamour on before?"   
Lucius averted his eyes. "Just a little one." 

"I wondered where Draco got that pointiness..." Narcissa mused, before fixing his previous glamour. Unfortunately, this caused his hair to catch fully on fire. The house-elves, as well as Narcissa and Lucius, immediately began panicking, until Cottontail had the idea to dump a bucket of water onto Master Lucius' head. And also that of Mistress Narcissa. 

"Is there anything wrong now?" Lucius huffed, moving his hair out of his eyes.   
Narcissa stalked out of the room, looking rather like a wet Persian cat, or a soaked, sane Bellatrix. "I'll let you know once I fix myself."   
Unfortunately, it then appeared that Grindelwald's charm was transferrable, so following their subsequent drying, Lucius spent twenty minutes trying to fix Narcissa's blood orange 'Rachel'.   
"Why is it so layered?" Narcissa wept. "My hair is too thin for this!"   
"Bangs don't suit you." Lucius agreed sadly. "Hang on, I think I've got it..." 

This ended up with both of them wet again, and Mopsy stuck with a neon lime green bob with a fringe. Neither Lucius nor Narcissa bothered to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone likes Narcissa. No one likes Lucius.


	21. In Which there is an aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have a character who will be an outlet for my slang. Amazing.

Even though all of Hogwarts saw Grindelwald and Dumbledore march into the Forbidden Forest (well, Grindelwald marched. Dumbledore walked at a sedate pace) sightings of Grindelwald continued throughout the week. One Slytherin first-year got up in the middle of the night for a drink of water, only to see Grindelwald grinning at him from outside a window to the Black Lake. The Slytherin, scared by the sight, promptly burst into tears.

Two days later, the Gryffindor Quidditch team went to practice, only to find Grindelwald sun-tanning on top of a Quidditch stand, albeit fully clothed. The next day the Ravenclaws found him inside their common room, perched on the windowsill, reading a book about peregrine falcons. Some of the older children told the First Years that he was a persistent ghost, who would gobble them up. The Muggleborn faction (aided by Fred and George) spun this until he was regarded as some sort of evil gnome or leprechaun, which would grant wishes but ask a terrible price in return.

Grindelwald was apparently aware of this, because subsequent appearances involved a particularly nasty grin and the phrase “Fiddle-dee-dee.” Sometimes he’d pretend he’d made a deal with one of the students, leading to their peers watching them warily for eldritch powers for the next few days. No one seemed able to stop him.

Sir Hiss reported that Grindelwald and Dumbledore were now living in the Forest, and _no_ , he was not going to go that deep just because Harry and Ginny asked him to check up on the old men from time to time.   
“ _Simply put, I like to stay away from things in the middle.”_  
“ _You’re a basilisk, what scares you?_” Harry asked.

“ _I don’t particularly like unicorns. Or augureys. Or giants. I haven’t really gone in there, there’s probably more. I once thought I heard a dragon.”_  
“ _There is a dragon in there?_ ” Ginny asked in surprise.   
“ _No, I said I thought I heard a dragon. It turned out to be my own stomach, but I haven’t discounted the possibility of it.” _Sir Hiss replied.   
“ _You’re getting really good at Parseltongue._ ” Harry grinned at Ginny.

“ _Thank you, Harry_.”   
“ _You both are entirely too young for mating, by the way._ ” Sir Hiss noted.   
Harry and Ginny both blinked in surprise. Ginny flushed, and Harry found the treeline above them very interesting.   
“We’re _not_.” Harry said in English.  

“ _I don’t speak your human language.”_ Sir Hiss’s voice was suspiciously sing-song. It reminded Harry vaguely of a French teacher in primary school who would sometimes refuse to listen to them unless they spoke French. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but a bit disconcerting to compare a teacher to a 60 foot snake.

“ _Sorry. But we’re not. Not yet, at least. We haven’t even been on a date._ ”   
“ _At least she hasn’t eaten you.”_   
“ _That’s not normal for our kind.”_ Ginny said.   
Sir Hiss snorted in derision. “ _Salazar often ate his mate._ ”

“ _I don’t think I like where this conversation is going._ ” Harry almost covered his ears.   
“ _Hmm. I often hear strange noises from the stone thing the old ones made_.”   
“ _I definitely don’t like where this is going._” Ginny made a face. _“Dumbledore is like my grandfather, I don’t want to hear about him shagging!_ ”

“ _Agreed. Wait, didn’t you say you weren’t going in there?”_  
“ _I said I wasn’t going in there for you. Occasionally, I go poking around the stone thing for myself. It’s a safe area, anyway.”   
“So… Sir Hiss… what do you think about… the weather?_”   
“ _It’s far too cold and I hate it_.” Sir Hiss said immediately. “ _Wizard, fix the weather, or I shall eat you_.”   
“ _Wha… I can’t fix the weather!_ ” Harry said hurriedly.

“ _Hmmph. I am rethinking your offer to live out here.”_  
“Oh, shut it. Salazar kept you in a pit until he called for you. You were much too big for it.” Harry pointed out.   
“He what?” Ginny asked in surprise.   
“Yeah, it was a whole thing Theodore and I did over the holidays. Essentially, I really don’t think Salazar Slytherin planned this far ahead.”

“No kidding.” Ginny agreed.   
“ _Parseltongue, children. Parseltongue. Would you like me to tell you a story of my mate, once upon a time?”_   
“ _You had a mate?”_ Harry asked in surprise.   
_“Why is that so surprising, speaker? You have a mate, and you are naught but a child, barely hatched._” Sir Hiss nuzzled Harry’s cheek fondly. _“Now sit upon the cold and the wet, and I shall speak with you. Long ago, I was woken by the Heir. The Heir didn’t visit as often as others, but it’s alright because I didn’t care about him anyway. But one day, he brought her. She was, unfortunately, blind from birth, but it was probably for the best. She was enormous—not as big as me, you understand, but still, quite big by your standards. She told me many tales of the land of her birth, she was from the Amazon, you see._ ”

“ _There are basilisks from the Amazon?_ ” Harry asked.   
_“No, she was a python. Or an anaconda. I forget. But the stories she told. They kept us warm throughout your stupid cold winter. She kept me warm. And we had eggs, a full nest. Our children were so beautiful, you understand. Then, one by one, they all disappeared or died. Do you remember when the Speaker possessed you, child?_”   
“ _Me?_ ” Ginny asked in surprise.

 _“Yes. You. When the Speaker possessed you, you took the surviving one. We called her Nagini. I know you do not remember, but sometimes I smell her in the forest. I think she may still be alive, so that’s that._ ”   
“ _What happened to your mate?_ ” Harry asked softly as Ginny said, “ _You were awake for more than a year?!”_   
“ _One at a time. My mate died. She… once the Speaker had no further use for her, he… he had me kill her. Yes, I was awake for more than a year. You recall the Speaker possessing you. He did much the same to me. That’s the power of the Slytherin family—they would control me much like he controlled you. I generally don’t go to the trouble of bothering human children, except when I am exceptionally hungry.”_

 _“What was all that ‘kill, kill’ nonsense last year?_ ” Harry demanded.   
“ _The Speaker had a very one-track mind._ ” Sir Hiss shrugged as best he could without shoulders. _“I don’t imagine she was particularly eloquent with him inside her mind either.”_   
“ _I never noticed_.” Harry confessed.   
Ginny shoved him playfully. “ _Shove off!_ ”

“Good gods, Harry Potter has a basilisk. This will go quite a long way towards getting rid of the Pretender.” A new voice interrupted.   
“Grindelwald.” Harry said by way of greeting. “This is Sir Hiss.”   
Grindelwald huffed. “I know who he is. He keeps going into our rabbit hutch and killing and eating them.”

“You have rabbits?” Ginny asked.   
“Basilisks aren’t the only ones who like to eat them.” Grindelwald shrugged. “Anyway, if _I_ had had a basilisk, especially one this big, I would have rode it into battle, presumably with a bard so as to feel sufficiently energized for a coming battle. Imagine how many Death Eaters you will kill with him.”   
“Only problem is, Voldemort’s a Parselmouth as well, and can apparently hypnotize Sir Hiss to kill children.” Harry huffed.

“That _is_ problematic. Let’s have a round of applause for the Pretender for actually doing something that won’t backfire on him for once.”   
No one clapped.   
“ _Should I kill him?_ ” Sir Hiss asked.

“ _I don’t think so…_ ” Harry said. “ _I’m not even that sure that he can die? He’s like an annoying ghost.”  
“Like Peeves._ ” Ginny corrected.   
“ _I don’t like Peeves. I am quickly coming to the conclusion that I should, indeed, eat this man._ ”   
“How do you know what Peeves is?” Harry asked in English, before repeating it in Parseltongue.

“You know, this is quite rude.” Grindelwald huffed. “I’m not a Parselmouth.”   
They ignored him.   
“ _Peeves was created by Rowena Ravenclaw to defend the castle. One of her measures, anyway. He gets bored in peacetime—Salazar ranted about him for about an hour straight after Peeves dropped a single egg on top of him. It doesn’t matter that his mate cleaned him up. When Salazar sunk his teeth into an issue, he was committed._ ”

“ _Slytherin was lucky, trust me._ ” Ginny huffed. “Come on, Harry. I’m cold—let’s go back. Bye, Grindelwald.”   
“Bye!” Grindelwald said, before turning to Sir Hiss. “So… are you going to pay me back for the rabbits?”   
Sir Hiss slithered away.   
“Alright then.” Grindelwald sighed.

In Privet Drive, Bellatrix and the Death Eaters were slowly adjusting. The neighborhood had accepted them, and they, in turn, had learned not to destroy the neighborhood. (Arabella Figg had to be Obliviated, though. She recognized them immediately.)

True, there was a rather large amount of gossip about Bellatrix, especially since it appeared that she worked while the rest of the Death Eaters did the household chores. Rodolphus in particular proved to be quite adept at cooking, especially baking. Rabastan, for his part, enjoyed gardening and mowing the lawn. And so on.

“What is our strategy for the neighborhood lawn association meeting?” Rodolphus asked as they gathered around the table for dinner.   
Rabastan smirked. “Fear not, brother. I have taken the car to the finest plant nursery in England. I have already planted a cherry tree, and a lovely flower garden. I even plotted it out on paper before doing so. We shall crush those filthy Muggles into the dirt.”

Rodolphus smirked. “Excellent, brother. I have already taken the liberty of inviting the neighborhood lawn club over to show them your previous work. I made sure to comment upon Mrs. Dursley’s petunias that she takes so much pride in. They are her namesake, after all.”   
Rabastan burst out laughing. “Rodolphus, you cad! The poor things are half-dead!”   
“I know.” Rodolphus smiled wickedly.

Bellatrix groaned. “Are you _serious_? We were the worst of the worst, the Dark Lord’s most vicious, and now you’re only crushing Muggles in _flowers_?!”   
“Well, it’s not as though we could crush them any other way.” Rodolphus huffed.   
“And the satisfaction of it almost _does_ make me feel like the thrill of a Cruciatus.” Rabastan admitted.

“Rough day at work, darling?” Rodolphus purred, getting up and massaging Bellatrix’s back.   
She leaned into him. “You have no idea. I got to fire multiple different Muggles, though. I had no idea working at a drill company could be so satisfying.”   
“Dearest, you had no idea what a drill _was_.” Rodolphus pointed out.

“True. I have many Muggles under my feet though. I heard one whisper that they wished my predecessor, Vernon Dursley, would come back. Apparently all the man did was shout at them, so clearly, I am succeeding already.” Bellatrix smirked. “Sadly, I don’t get to whip the creatures, but ah well. Close enough.”   
“Someday, sweetheart.” Rodolphus cooed. “Someday Our Lord will return, and you’ll whip all the Muggles you want.”

“Oh, Rodolphus. You always know what to say.” Bellatrix giggled.   
“I’m leaving.” Antonin Dolohov said suddenly.   
“Where?” Bellatrix demanded.

“Out.”   
“That’s not an answer.”   
“It’s with a girl.” Antonin huffed.   
Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. “Is it a Pureblood?”   
“No, it’s a Muggle.”

Bellatrix slammed her fist on the table. “In this family, we don’t date Muggles, Antonin! I will teach you this lesson, in place of your _real_ mother, if it hasn’t stuck!”   
Dolohov sneered at her. “Moira lets me call her what she is during sexual acts. Filth, muck, whatever comes to mind.”

“Is that healthy?” Rodolphus asked while Bellatrix gasped. “You-you-you have had _relations_ with a Muggle?! That’s it, go to your room, Antonin!”   
“You’re not my mother!” He yelled.   
“I might as well be!”   
“I’ll just sneak out anyway!”

“Fine, do that! I’ll set up wards to stop you!”   
Dolohov flipped her the bird and stomped upstairs.   
“Has anyone tried the chicken?” Rabastan asked. “Brother did an exceptionally good job tonight.”   
Augustus Rookwood nodded. “Bellatrix, I threw an apple at one of the Muggle children today.”   
“Good job, Rookwood. You’re a good Death Eater.” Bellatrix said. “The Dark Lord is proud of you for doing your part.”

Rookwood beamed, and Mulciber muttered, “Show off.”   
Bellatrix glared at him. “If you have something to say, Mulciber, say it out loud.”   
“Rookwood’s a show off.” Mulciber repeated louder.   
Bellatrix immediately gained a slasher smile. “Oh, Mulciber. I was _waiting_ for someone to anger me.”

She sprang at him wielding a butter knife.   
“Did you make dessert, Rodolphus?” Another Death Eater asked.   
Rodolphus nodded. “Apple pie.”   
“Oh my. That sounds delicious.”   
“I certainly hope so. I was experimenting with a variety of recipes, trying to find the best combination of each one.”

They all calmly ignored Mulciber’s shrieks and Bellatrix’s insane laughter.   
“Getting a bit late.” Rookwood yawned. “No offense to your pie, Rodolphus, but I filled up on chicken and potatoes. I’m going to turn in.”   
“You have that job interview tomorrow, it’s understandable.” Rodolphus waved it off. “Do you want me to pack you a lunch?”   
“Oh, would you? I don’t exactly trust Muggle restaurants.” 

“Of course. We have some leftover chicken and potatoes, especially if Antonin won’t be back for more.”   
“That’d be lovely.” Rookwood smiled, before standing up and clearing his place and Dolohov’s.   
“Hahaha, _die_ , Mulciber!” Bellatrix cackled.   
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Mulciber screamed.

“Who’s ready for dessert?” Rodolphus asked cheerfully as Mulciber sobbed on the floor and Bellatrix returned to her seat.   
“Oh, oh, I am, brother!” Rabastan said.

“I’m also eager to try your special pie, darling.” Bellatrix smiled rather prettily, instead of the smile she had shown before attacking Mulciber.

Rodolphus stood up, kissed Bellatrix on the cheek, then carried the dinner platter in and the pie out. “Now who would like whipped cream?”   
“Me…” Mulciber called weakly from the floor.   
Everyone looked at Bellatrix.

“I would too, thank you Roddy.”   
“Sit up properly, Mulciber. It looked like she didn’t even maim you that badly.” Rabastan cooed.   
“I know—I’m worried she’ll be back for more later.” Mulciber whined.   
Bellatrix ignored him. “Roddy, you did _amazingly_ well with this pie.”

Rodolphus blushed. “Thank you, Bella.”   
“She’s right, brother. I would be proud to serve this to the neighborhood lawn association.”   
“Don’t be silly, brother. It would be _leftovers_. It would insult them. And besides, it’s much too good for Muggles anyway.”

Rabastan shrugged. “Ah, well. The competition’s not until May anyway.”   
“I admire you for your headstart though. Especially in winter.”   
“Oh, it’s nothing. A few hidden warming charms have my garden blooming as though it’s springtime.”   
Rodolphus raised an eyebrow. “I hope you have them all over the neighborhood.”   
Rabastan smirked. “They think it unseasonably warm, don’t _worry_ , brother. I’m hardly about to break the International Statute of Secrecy over a rose bush.”   
Rodolphus grunted in reply.

Back at Hogwarts, the new Headmistress arrived soon enough, accompanied by all the usual gossip. Some said she was fired from Ilvermorny. Some said she left to go after a beast that had killed her family, and now that she had killed it, she was free to resume teaching.   
Minerva McGonagall was bitter for less than a day that _she_ , who hadn’t been traipsing about the world, was passed over in favor of Her, but she pulled herself together.

Remus Lupin quietly worried about the rumors saying the Beast she’d hunted was a werewolf.   
Sybil Trelawney toasted to the new Headmistress with no one.   
Pomona Sprout just hoped the children would be alright.   
Hector Dagworth-Smith had no idea of his colleague’s feelings towards the new Headmistress, as he was new and no one really confided in him yet. He was aware of this, and felt privileged to merely hear of their feelings on the coffeecake in the teacher’s lounge.

Professor Elliot Steward had, in actuality, not killed a werewolf. She _had_ killed a particularly nasty family of rougarous, which Lupin (and others) had misheard as 'loup-garou'. She had not done it out of revenge, but rather concern of the welfare of her family. And she had not been fired—she took an extended leave of absence for the birth of her first and only child, and subsequently had never returned to Ilvermorny for a variety of reasons.

She let the children gossip though. No harm, no foul in her eyes.   
“Come in, Minerva.” She said as the elder witch knocked upon her door.

“You wanted to see me, Headmistress?”   
“Yes. I know how Ilvermorny works, but for all their talk of sisterhood, our two schools are very different.” Elliot allowed herself a smile.   
“There is strength in diversity.” McGonagall noted diplomatically.

“True, but there seems to be a rift between your houses. Why is that?”   
“I’m sure you’ve heard all about Slytherin and how his ideals differed from that of the other founders.”   
Elliot leaned forward. “More than you know.”   
“Excuse me?” McGonagall asked.

“Professor, have you heard of how Ilvermorny was founded? How the Gaunt family chased itself across the Atlantic?” Elliot stood and walked over to the nearest window, gazing out upon the lawn.   
“I suppose.”   
“Did you hear of Isolt and James Stewart?”

“Yes, I know the story.”   
“Then you know about their daughters, Martha and Rionach. Now, Rionach vowed never to let the Slytherin-Gaunt line continue –of course she didn’t know about your Lord Voldemort’s line of the family—but Martha married into the Pocomtuc tribe, of Massachussetts. And when all the history of my family, my people, began as the No-Majs know it today, with the Seven Years’ War and the flight to Canada and God alone knows what else, do you know what they gave their name as?” Elliot turned, her eyes burning into McGonagall’s.

“Stewart?” McGonagall guessed.   
Elliot nodded once. “Exactly.”   
McGonagall’s pace quickened. “Then you’re—”  
Elliot looked tired, sitting back down in her chair. “I am. The hat said as much himself.”   
“She’s _what_?” Slytherin’s portrait asked loudly.

“Salazar, shh. Behave yourself.” Godric huffed.   
Elliot looked startled. “Which one…?”   
“Up there.” McGonagall pointed. “Harry Potter found them in the Chamber of Secrets.”   
“What is she?” Slytherin demanded.

Elliot stood very stiffly, turning to face him. “I am your heir.”   
Slytherin huffed. “No, you’re not. Listen to your accent. That boy, Theodore, _he’s_ my heir.”   
“He didn’t say as much… he said he was a bastard. This changes everything, Salazar.” Gryffindor noted. “And one of your descendants is Heading the school, just as you did.”

“Good. Land’s back in my family then. Godric, _listen_ to her. She talks so oddly.”   
“She’s an American.” McGonagall supplied.   
“What the bloody Hell is an American?” Salazar demanded. “Is that some sort of disease that affects one’s accent?”

Elliot blinked, taken aback.   
“This is why Helga handled the diplomats from other schools.” Godric sighed.   
“Helga made _plans_.” Salazar hissed. “I’m telling you, she was up to no good! Just like Rowena was, with that stupid poltergeist!”   
Godric sighed. “Sal, Helga and Rowena weren’t up to no good. Stop being paranoid.”

“I’m telling you, Rowena knew things about the school! Things she never told me! I’m betting she told _you_ though, after I left.”   
“After you were kicked out. And if you mean the House-locked defense systems, I’m leaving.”   
“Aha!”

“Goodbye, Sal. I’m going to the Gryffindor common room. Play nice with your descendant, or else.”   
“Or else _what_? We’re a portrait, you can’t withhold sex from me anymore!” Salazar huffed.   
The other Headmasters and Headmistresses in their portraits began hemming and hawing.

Elliot waved her wand and silenced them all. “I had expected him to be more…”   
“Dignified? He reminds me of Gellert Grindelwald, truthfully.” McGonagall huffed. “That’s not a trait I would want in anyone.”   
“I see why—” Elliot began, before stopping abruptly at Minerva shaking her head. “No… it’s more of Grindelwald’s personality. Believe me, before your arrival, whenever Albus wanted to have a staff meeting up here, That Man would be hanging about, and likely causing trouble. I trust you’ve heard of his numerous appearances over the school?”

“Unfortunately.”   
“He doesn’t seem to be malevolent at the moment, so I assume you don’t want to update the wards—”   
“Why would you assume that I would let a mass murderer pop up and terrorize children?” Elliot interrupted.   
McGonagall paused. “I suppose, I’m just so used to Albus…”

Elliot folded her hands underneath her chin. “I think everyone will find that I’m a lot different than Albus Dumbledore.”   
McGonagall breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank _God_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Elliot and McGonagall weren't making typos when it came to God instead of Gods. 
> 
> McGonagall is canonically the daughter of a Minister. 
> 
> And the reason most of Europe follows the Norse religion is because of the Vikings. You could argue about Vinland, but at the end of the day, it appears from what little we know about Ilvermorny and magical America is that the majority of settlers --including James Stewart, ancestor to Elliot-- were Christian. Elliot isn't a strict Christian, I might even go a bit deeper into her belief system later if I feel it's warranted. But for now, she, and McGonagall, like me, are content in taking the Lord's name in vain.


	22. Grindelwald's Night Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Titles:
> 
> Draco Malfoy Probably Doesn't Know What Sex Is
> 
> Edge Lord Grindelwald 
> 
> Grindelwald Should Never Have to Deal With Children and Relatives of Cygnus Black
> 
> Don't Ask How Grindelwald Knows About 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks', He Just Does
> 
> Draco Did Not Ask For This, Thank You Very Much.

Grindelwald twiddled his thumbs as Albus finished the list. “So where to first?”   
“Well, there are some places you can go and some places I can go.” Dumbledore answered.   
“What about together—”   
“Gellert, as much as I love you, you must admit that we distract each other.”

“So we find the horcruxes, and _then_ we distract each other.” Grindelwald smirked. “Sure, I can go to some underbelly-of-the-Wizarding-World places myself and you can… break into… hm.”   
The two men stood in silence for a moment, before Gellert said, “ _You_ can break into Gringotts, all by yourself.”

“I could. But we would be forced to go on the run.”   
“Have you considered kidnapping Draco Malfoy?” Grindelwald asked.   
“No, Gellert. Why on Earth would I ever consider that?”

“Because he put it in a Death Eater’s vault. An old family, and completely and utterly loyal. Someone who would have gone to Azkaban for him.”   
“Bellatrix Lestrange.” Dumbledore supplied.   
“Really? I just thought Narcissa would do whatever it takes to get her son back. This makes our ransom demands _much_ easier.”

“Gellert, we are _not_ kidnapping a student.” Dumbledore huffed.   
“What about we ask for his help, and _pretend_ to kidnap him?”   
“Gellert, what about Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy makes you think they’d be okay with that?”

“Oh, they’re not the ones I’m worried about. We’re pariahs anyway, and Aurors are stupid. I’m worried about the new Headmistress. She keeps bolstering the wards to try to keep me out. She’s obviously powerful, but I don’t know what makes her tick. Until I know a person’s weaknesses, I can’t destroy them. It’s simple, really.”

“You think she would pursue us?”   
“What would _you_ do if I kidnapped one of your students?”   
“Well, Gellert, I’d try to reason with you—”   
Grindelwald let out an exasperated sigh. “ _No_. Here, what would you do if a Death Eater kidnapped Harry Potter?”

“I’d pursue them, and take the boy back, naturally.” Dumbledore said. “Oh.”   
“Yeah, and I haven’t seen a soulmate anywhere. That’s another wild card. The halfblood witch likes her, that’s a third. _Obviously_ we can beat her, but I don’t like an uneven playing field. I’m a bit of a perfectionist, Albus.”   
Dumbledore chuckled, before leaning in and kissing Grindelwald gently. “I’ve noticed.”

“Which is why I have a perfect soulmate.” Grindelwald continued, smirking.   
“Why, Gellert, you flatter me.”   
“I know. I’m hoping it gets me some favours later.” He waggled his eyebrows.   
Dumbledore laughed. “I admire your honesty, Gellert. Now, why don’t you sneak into Hogwarts and broach the subject with Draco Malfoy?”

Grindelwald checked his pocketwatch. “It’s past midnight, the boy’s asleep.”   
“Oh, I hadn’t realized—”   
“No, Albus. Thinking like a Slytherin, remember? This is perfect.”   
Dumbledore sighed. “Don’t scare him.”

Grindelwald laughed. “I make no promises, Albus.”   
“Well, I suppose this is a small thing in the scheme of things. Remember to get Miss Warren, alright?”   
“Ah, the Little Ghost Girl.”   
“Gellert, I, and others, have told you her name multiple times. Surely it’s simpler to say ‘Myrtle’, ‘Miss Warren’, or even the nickname the children gave her?”

Grindelwald smirked. “I don’t play by the rules.”   
Albus hid a smile. “Gellert, you’re not an ‘edgy’ teenager, as the children say. You don’t ride about on motorcycles with leather jackets smoking cigarettes.”   
Grindelwald clicked his fingers. “New idea. Thank you, Albus.”   
“My _point_ is that you can march to the beat of your own drum while respecting Miss Warren’s name.”   
Grindelwald paused for a moment, before shaking his head. “Nah.”

He disappeared into the dark forest, before perusing a map and choosing a tunnel. He felt the wards even underneath the ground though, like a really hard wind. Gods know what would have happened to him had he tried to Apparate or walk in.

Even within the castle, the wards constantly buffered him. The Stewart woman was truly dedicated to this, wasn’t she?   
“Cosmic creepers.” Grindelwald said at the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory. The door slid open, and Grindelwald walked in, humming ‘The Beautiful Briny Sea’.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone. Hector Dagworth-Granger was seated on a sofa, drawn together rigidly unlike how Grindelwald had sprawled there the night the Reller-not-Reller girl attacked him.   
“Hell—hell _no_.” Professor Dagworth-Granger growled. “What are _you_ doing here?”   
“Well, since you asked, I am here to find Draco Malfoy and ask him if he would like to come with me to pretend to be kidnapped, taken to an Unplottable location with a basilisk as secret keeper, and keep me or Albus company as the other one breaks into Gringotts with the aid of Draco Malfoy’s family and a ghost named Myrtle –see, I know her name—to find an incredibly Dark artifact containing part of the Pretender’s soul. Said artifact will then be destroyed, striking a blow against Voldemort’s continued immortality, eventually helping Harry Potter destroy him once and for all.”

Hector Dagworth-Granger blinked quite rapidly. No one trusted him with anything, let alone _that_. “Oh. Well… perhaps you should Stun me?”   
“Oh, you’re offering? Thank you very much.” Grindelwald whipped out his wand, then proceeded to do so, breaking a few chairs and knick-knacks to give the appearance of a struggle.   
He then picked up where he left off in the song, and continued into the Slytherin boys’ rooms.

“Mm… Astoria…” Draco mumbled into his pillow.   
Grindelwald shuddered. Teenagers. He quickly sprayed Draco with a blast of water.   
“Agh, where’s the fire?” Draco asked as he woke up, looking around wildly. A pillow came sailing into his head from the left.

“Shut. Up.” Theodore Nott growled, before sticking his hand out expectantly for the return of the pillow.   
Blaise Zabini had apparently heard them, because he sat up. “Don’t you idiots know I need my beauty sleep?!”   
Theodore roused himself to glare at Blaise, then froze upon seeing Grindelwald.

“I admire your proclivity to band together, but I really only need the Malfoy boy.” Grindelwald remarked coolly.   
Draco drew his covers to his chest as though they were a shield. “What do you want with me?”   
“Oh, nothing in particular. Well, actually, I have quite a long and convoluted plot, but I sense you’re all about to interrupt.”

“Don’t you know it’s _one in the morning_?!” Theodore growled.   
“Yes, yes. You’re halfway to more threatening than the Pretender already.” Grindelwald huffed. Theodore froze.   
“What are you doing in our room at this time?” Draco asked.   
“I came to ask if you would like to be kidnapped.”

Blaise snorted. “Shit way of going about it.”   
“No, no, no.” Grindelwald then proceeded to regurgitate the speech he had given Hector Dagworth-Granger.   
“So… all I have to do is sit with Headmaster Dumbledore?” Draco said slowly.   
“Or me. Probably me. I certainly don’t want to accompany the Sisters Black into a dark hole in the ground where a dragon could eat me. Now come along.”

“I, um, I can’t.” Draco mumbled.   
“What? Why not? You agreed to my plan.”   
“Not in so many words!”   
“You didn’t _disagree_!”

“Look, I’ll do it later!” Draco said pleadingly. “Just not now!”   
“Why? You’re already awake.”   
“I have a small… situation.”

“Listen, if you’ve wet the bed, I’m sure your friends won’t tell anyone. _I_ won’t even use it as blackmail.”   
“No! I’m not a baby, I haven’t wet the bed since I was three years old, and I don’t intend to start now!”   
Realization dawned on Grindelwald. “Eugh, teenagers… Well, you can’t get rid of it, your friends are right there!”   
“How do you know what’s going on?” Draco demanded. “Dirty old man!”   
“I am _not_ a dirty old man!” Grindelwald hissed. “Well, I mean I am, but I’d hardly be interested in a _child_! Even I have limits to my evil, boy. I make people uncomfortable. I mess with their minds. But I certainly do _not_ rape them, or harass children!”

“How do you know what’s happening then?” Draco demanded.   
“Wha—you think _I_ did this to you? Maybe the fact you were moaning your betrothed’s name when I entered had something to do with it!” Grindelwald hissed. “Believe me, I’m starting to consider the dragon, rather than dealing with teenage hormones!”

Theodore figured it out first. “Draco, we all get morning wood. It’s normal. Just… think of your grandmother. Naked.”   
Draco was shocked. “ _Theodore_!”   
“Well, it’s not arousing!” Theodore said defensively.

“You think of your grandmother _naked_ to-to-to… dull your _urges_?” Draco whispered fiercely.   
“No, I think of _your_ grandmother naked. Druella scares me.”   
Grindelwald cringed. “That is how fetishes develop. Please don’t tell a grandson of Cygnus Black to think of family members during a moment of arousal. Normally, I would expect nothing to come of it, but the Black family has been known to develop… _complexes_.”

“What?!” Draco squawked.   
“Oh, this is so awkward.” Grindelwald groaned. “How about I stun those two, and leave, and you deal with your weird thoughts about your grandmother and a _pre-pubescent_ girl, and then we leave?”   
“I don’t have _weird_ thoughts about Grandmother! And why did you describe Astoria like that?”   
“Because physiologically speaking, she is nothing but a child. She has not hit puberty, so she has neither sexual desires nor any sexuality to her being at all.” Grindelwald huffed. “And yet you _dare_ accuse _me_ of pederasty?”   
“I think it was more Astoria herself instead of her age.” Theodore remarked lightly, before yawning. “Draco, do you still have your _little_ situation?”

Draco glared at him. “Shove off, Theodore.”   
Blaise gave a sigh of long-suffering. “Draco, Draco, Draco. Don’t be ashamed of what you are. And you would never want to _hurt_ Astoria, as a large one might. It’s about technique. Treat her like a goddess, not like you’re animals in heat.”   
Slowly, all three of them turned to look at Blaise.

“Ye-es…” Grindelwald said slowly. “I mean, I suppose that to be true, I haven’t exactly been diving into lady parts, but aren’t you all about thirteen? Why do you know these things? Why are we discussing sex? Do you even know what sex _is_?”   
“Obviously.” Theodore snorted. “We’re thirteen, not three. What, you think the Seventh Years don’t make stupid comments?”

“We learned about it like everyone does—from the Gryffindors yelling crude things during Quidditch.” Draco huffed. “I mean, my education on the subject is somewhat lacking, as I _play_ , but I know enough.”   
Theodore and Blaise looked at each other, then at him.   
“Do tell.”   
“I know that I must wait until marriage to preserve both my virtue and Astoria’s. I know that it’s crude, and rough, and _now_ I know that I can hurt her.”

“While I admire your nobility, I must clear up one point.” Blaise pointed out. “You don’t have a hymen.”   
“What’s that, and what’s it got to do with anything?” Draco asked pointedly.   
“When you have sex with a woman, and it’s her first time, she bleeds. It’s inevitable.” Grindelwald waved his hand. “I’m _extremely_ gay, and even I know that.”   
“You’re also as old as the earth.” Draco retorted. “And is that why it’s painful?”

“One of the reasons, though I _think_ it might be avoidable, if you are attentive to her as well as to yourself.” Blaise said. “Clearly you need to have a talk with your parents like Theodore and I have. The Gryffindors aren’t exactly a good source, Draco.”   
“Why?”   
“Boys don’t have ‘virtues’.” Blaise commented.   
“Then why do girls?” Draco asked. “If this is about the ‘hymen’, that’s stupid. What does blood coming out of… _there_ have to do with anything?”

“He has a point, Blaise. If he wants to wait until marriage, that’s his choice.” Theodore agreed.   
“Yes, yes, yes. But this is not the point.” Grindelwald huffed. “The point is, and I think you’ve all forgotten, but Draco Malfoy needs to come with me so that Albus –or me—can get locked up with one of the Sisters Black miles beneath the Earth with goblins and dragons and gods know what else, only that they’d help her kill me, to find a piece of Voldemort in some paltry trinket. On top of that, I need a ghost. Time is being wasted. I do not have time for _this_ one to come to some sort of a sexual awakening, or what have you. You can give him the sex talk later, when you _also_ have time—time to discuss things such as contraceptives, sexually transmitted diseases, and what have you.”

“We don’t have STIs.” Blaise growled.   
“Child, I am five seconds away from stunning both you and your sleepy friend, and maybe even the Malfoy boy. I have a job to do. It does not include giving talks of a sexual nature to three idiot teenagers. Push me further and you will see why I brought Europe to its knees and inspired _Voldemort_ to become what he did. Do you want that to happen? The full fury of a Dark Lord unleashed against the three of you? I’m not above simply kidnapping the Malfoy boy in reality and lying through my teeth to Albus about how much the child consented to come with me. And if you think three Third Years could stop me, you don’t belong in this house. Come _along_ , Malfoy, before the situation sours for you and your friends.”

Draco paled, before nodding and creeping out of bed. This was no longer a game. Grindelwald was no longer a fun teacher teasing them. He shivered as he walked beside Grindelwald. Instead of the playful smile he usually wore, he had on a grim expression. Draco wondered if this is what he looked like before he killed people.

“If you’re wondering,” Grindelwald suddenly spoke. “I wouldn’t have done it. I can’t hurt the students of Hogwarts.”   
Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He was still safe.   
“Don’t look so happy.” Grindelwald’s voice was low. “Magic and I can be very selective. You won’t be ‘of Hogwarts’ if you’re out of it, and there are other ways of subduing you if you try to run before we leave.”

“You _are_ kidnapping me!” Draco hissed. “You said you wouldn’t.”   
Grindelwald stared coolly at him. “Clearly, I lied.”   
He ducked into a nearby room, and Draco flushed upon realizing it was the girl’s lavatory. He could run—Grindelwald reached out and grabbed him from the dark.   
Draco honestly wasn’t that surprised that Normal Grindelwald was back, along with the playful smile.   
Draco didn’t want to see the Other Grindelwald again for a very, very long time.

“Little Ghost Girl?” Grindelwald called. “I have a proposition for you.”   
Myrtle came flying out of a toilet, drenched in water. “What? Does it have to do with him?”   
Grindelwald grinned. “In a fashion. More to do with you. Do you want your freedom?”   
“What do you want in return?” Myrtle asked bluntly.

“I need your help finding more of those artifacts with a part of Tom in them.”   
_Tom_? Did he just refer to Lord Voldemort as _Tom_?   
“I told you, never!” Myrtle hissed.   
Grindelwald shrugged. “Never is a long time. Just like eternity. Myrtle, do you _truly_ want to spend your life here, watching other people’s daughters come and go, _when_ they come?”

Myrtle hesitated. “It’s better than finding _that_.”   
“Just a few trinkets, Myrtle. A few artifacts, and then we’ll stop.”   
Myrtle’s hands clenched into fists. Draco had heard tales of her going mad and flooding everything. He looked nervously at Grindelwald, unsure whether to speak or not.

Grindelwald sighed. “You… your parents were Jewish? During the Great War?”   
“World War Two.” Myrtle said softly. “That’s what they call it now.”   
Grindelwald cringed. “Of course. The point is, do you remember the man that forced you to flee? If you do this, you’ll be helping us take down a man like him.”

“What are you implying?”   
Myrtle’s tone could have cut diamonds and frozen Lucius’ favorite wine.   
“I’m implying that helping us find Tom will help us destroy Lord Voldemort.” Grindelwald shrugged. “Aren’t I, Draco?”   
“So _now_ I’m back to Draco.”

“Of course. What would you prefer that I call you?” Grindelwald shrugged. “Come now, Myrtle. You’ll get to see a dragon, and not just a translation.” He gestured to Draco, who groaned.   
“I don’t get it.”   
“Because… his name… means dragon… never mind. Come on, Myrtle. I don’t have much time, you’re going to have to agree soon.”

“I don’t…” Myrtle hesitated again. “You have no right to decide these things, to try and manipulate me this way.”   
“Oooh, _busted_.” Draco grinned.   
“Little Ghost Girl, please. I need to do this for Albus. I’d do _anything_ for Albus. Wouldn’t you do the same for your Tom? If he was as wonderful as you thought?”

“Tom was everything!” Myrtle spat, flying at them. “Do you hear me? _Everything_.”   
Draco blinked rapidly. The man had killed her, and yet she was still devoted to him. And yet Astoria hated him. Why did the _Dark Lord_ get such devotion? All Draco wanted was for her to love him back. He knew that sounded petulant and whiny. It hurt his pride though, whenever she scorned him. And he didn’t want to be like Lupin and Dumbledore and McGonagall, separated, potentially forever, from who they loved the most. He knew that look in their eyes. The thought of it happening to _him_ was terrifying.

“Then you know I would give my life for Albus, just as you gave yours for Tom.”   
Myrtle drew a shaky breath. “I don’t want this.”   
“I thought not.”   
“I have conditions. I’ll do it. I don’t want it, but I’ll do it. 1) I’m set free, forever. No more Ministry bondings. 2) If any part of Tom can be wrested free from the artifacts, I want it. I want part of him, all to myself. 3) I reserve the right to leave at any time. 4) You won’t use me as a spy or something else equally ridiculous after I’ve helped you.”

“You should have been a Slytherin.” Grindelwald commented lightly. “But alright. I accept your terms, Ghost Girl.”   
Myrtle scowled. “I’m proud to be a Ravenclaw. Do you know what Slytherin did? What he said? He wasn’t as bad as the Dark Lord Grindelwald, but he helped pave the stones for his path.”   
Draco swiveled to look at Grindelwald. “Does she know who you are?” He asked in French.

He hadn’t really expected Grindelwald to answer, much less back in French. “No. But we’re not going to tell her, unless we want to drown in a pool of sewage.”   
“It’s very rude to ignore me like this.” Myrtle huffed. “I don’t speak French, you know.”   
“Apologies, Little Ghost Girl. Mr. Malfoy was having a problem. Draco, just go. The only ones who will know that you used the lavatory here would be the little ghost girl and I, and who would we tell?”

Grindelwald’s eyes twinkled rather like Dumbledore’s.   
Draco’s face burned. He didn’t want to have to use the girls’ water closet just because of Grindelwald. He didn’t want to use the water closet _anyway_. With a growl, he marched off to a stall, and thought of flowing waterfalls.

There was a long bout of silence, then Grindelwald whispered (in a way that everyone in the room heard), “Perhaps he has performance anxiety. Some people just can’t do it with others listening in.”   
Draco’s face burned, and he left the stall. “Yes, Professor Grin… Professor Gringlegrook. That’s exactly what it is.”

Draco was beginning to hate Grindelwald for doing this to him, for kidnapping him and humiliating him repeatedly.

That did not mean he wanted to drown in some girl’s _waste_ because Myrtle threw an understandable tantrum about Evil Grindelwald in her bathroom manipulating her.

So the three of them proceeded out of the castle. Draco stared up at the full moon and shivered.   
“Cold, Draco?” Grindelwald asked.   
“No. Well, yes, but no. My mother used to tell me stories about werewolves to try and get me to behave. She said if I didn’t eat all of my supper, Fenrir Greyback would come and gobble me up.”   
As if by magic, a werewolf appeared in front of them. Draco and Grindelwald instinctively stiffened, before Grindelwald whirled on Draco. “You. No more jinxing!”

“You can’t blame _me_ for this!”   
“Don’t mention anything else!” Grindelwald hissed.   
“It’s getting closer!” Myrtle shrieked.   
Indeed it was. The werewolf was walking cautiously towards them, before circling them. Apparently satisfied, it sat down in front of Grindelwald.

“Wolfsbane?” The old wizard guessed.   
The werewolf nodded. Draco nearly wet himself with relief.   
“I’m going to assume that you are, in fact, not Fenrir Greyback, here to dispatch us for not eating our dinner.”   
The werewolf shook his head.

Grindelwald gave a sigh of long suffering. “ _Please_ don’t tell me it’s Lupin.”   
The werewolf looked taken aback. It even managed to stand and take a step back, as though it was about to run away.   
“Good gods, man. If there is anything I have just learned, you do not tempt fate when it comes to werewolves. They _will_ pop up.” Grindelwald raised his arms, before waving them. “Do you want to know how I know? It’s because your parents literally named you Wolf Wolf. Even Trelawney could have predicted what happened next.”

Remus-wolf glared at him, and Draco squeaked.   
Remus-wolf stepped forward, staring up at him with large eyes, before looking to Grindelwald, then back at Draco.   
“Please don’t kill me. I’ll do better in Defense Against the Dark Arts, I promise.” Draco begged.   
“He’s not going to kill you, stupid boy. Lupin’s fully in his right mind. I doubt he’d be able to hurt a fly, being who he is.”   
Then Grindelwald leaned forward. “Though I have it on good authority he’s even worse than Albus when it comes to sugar.”

A gigantic black dog came bounding out of the Forest, and Draco nearly burst into tears. “That’s the _Grim_.”   
The dog nuzzled the werewolf, before shifting back into a man. “What are you three doing out here?”   
“You’re a _dog_?!” Grindelwald demanded. “Are you telling me Wolf Wolf is mated to Black Dog? Sometimes I wonder if the gods have a sense of humor.”

“Wolf Wolf?” Sirius cackled. “Gods… but no, you have Cissy’s son and Moaning Myrtle with you. Why?”   
“Night stroll. What are you doing here, Sirius Black? You’re not a teacher here.”   
“Oh? Neither are you. Rather specific cast for a night stroll.”   
“Do you _honestly_ care about the boy?” Grindelwald asked, interested.

Sirius wasn’t amused. Remus-wolf leaned against him, nuzzling his hand and steadying him.   
“The Black family motto is ‘Toujours Pur’, or ‘Always Pure’.” Sirius began. “But I hate that one. I’m thinking of changing it to something my mother would both applaud and hate. Remus has been helping me with that. I was thinking, ‘family first’. Which means, that’s my cousin’s kid. And I can’t let you march him off into the Forbidden Forest to do gods know what to him with Moaning Myrtle.”

“Bugger off, Sirius Black! I’m not going to hurt him!” Myrtle hissed.   
Sirius ignored her. Draco swallowed. “I’m—I’m fine, Cousin Sirius. We’re doing this to bring down the Dark Lord.”   
“And to prank his mother!” Grindelwald grinned.   
Sirius’ eyes (as well as those of Remus-wolf) lit up. “A prank? On Stiff-Lip Cissy? How can I help?”   
“I don’t know if you can. It involves breaking into Gringotts…” For the third time that night, Grindelwald explained his plan.

Sirius, like Draco, asked many stupid and uncomfortable questions. Grindelwald was entirely convinced that a person like Professor Dagworth-Granger (and Remus-wolf) was the best audience, because at least professors understood that you don’t interrupt a fine tale. Relatives of Cygnus Black, having neither the time nor the inclination, were not professors. And thus they asked stupid and repetitive questions and got offended when you told them things like, “I don’t need your help taking down a dragon,” and, “You’re much more useful as a hostage than an actual part of the mission, and I’m not even sure I want you for that,” and “your arousal from a dream regarding a disinterested eleven year old makes me uncomfortable. Can you... not...?" People were so touchy these days.

Eventually though, Sirius and Remus-wolf let them pass into the forest. Draco was yawning and the sun was rising, but at least it was happening.   
“D’you think he remembered to ask Professor Stewart and Narcissa for permission?” Sirius asked before Remus-wolf turned back into regular Remus.   
Remus-wolf shook his head.

“Oh well. Should be fun.” Sirius commented, before turning back into a dog.

Deep in the forest, Dumbledore lifted his head as he heard the door open. “Gellert, you’re late.”   
Grindelwald collapsed into a chair. “I know. But teenagers! They’re like herding cats! Why would you ever consent to a job giving you access to many stupid teenagers during the worst time possible? This is why their parents sent them to boarding school!”

Draco glared at Grindelwald, before turning to the home's other owner. “Your home is quite lovely, Headmaster Dumbledore.”   
“Thank you, dear boy. Lemon drop?”   
“I think I shall wait until after breakfast.” Draco replied diplomatically, though he gazed at the tin a bit longingly.   
“I think just this once I can make an exception.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, though they had been annoyed slits for Grindelwald only seconds before.

“My deepest apologies Headmaster—former Headmaster… but my mother won’t let me have too much sugar.” Draco sighed. “I… don’t react well to it. Mentally.”   
“I see. Well, we all can get a bit crazy at times.” Dumbledore twinkled some more.   
“…yes. Crazy.” Draco agreed. “That’s an accurate way to describe it.”

Myrtle huffed. “So when do we go?”


	23. In Which Everyone (well almost Everyone) knows Draco Malfoy has been kidnapped by two old men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never wanted to do this to Myrtle.
> 
> It didn't even occur to me to do so until Narcissa mentioned Grindelwald's name.

Elliot’s lip curled in distaste. One professor stunned. Another had thought nothing was wrong. _One student missing_.

His parents would soon be coming, it’s not as though she was Dumbledore and would keep it from them.   
And of course she couldn’t blame Lupin. He genuinely seemed to think the boy had wanted to go with Grindelwald. Malfoy’s eyes hadn’t been clouded, though Elliot wouldn’t put it past Grindelwald to use the _Imperius_ on a child.

Which meant there was a plan.

Elliot detested plans she wasn’t in on. They meant she could be caught unaware at any moment by schemers. Mysterious plans meant ashwinders laying eggs in the Great Hall and Dark Lords rising.   
And _no_ , Elliot’s plans didn’t count. Elliot quite liked her plans, when she had them.

Narcissa Malfoy appeared in the fireplace. “Headmistress Stewart?”   
“Madame Malfoy, please take a seat. I am incredibly sorry about the loss of your son—have you received a ransom note?”   
Narcissa nodded stiffly before passing it to Elliot.

“May I have some tea?” Narcissa asked, her voice cracking.   
“Of course, Madame Malfoy. What sort would you like?”   
“Do you have any chamomile?”   
“I do, in fact. Flippy, get the special chamomile tea for Madame Malfoy.” Elliot said to a house-elf that had apparated in once she mentioned its name.

“ _Yes_ , Missus Headmissus!” Flippy squeaked, before disappearing again.   
“I know what it’s like to lose a child.” Elliot said softly. “And we will do everything we can to get Draco back.”   
Narcissa took a teacup as Flippy returned. “I also know what it’s like to lose a child. At the moment, Lucius is tearing the Ministry apart. Squads of Aurors are looking for Draco. I’m so scared though, scared of Draco being buried in the garden with the rest…” A tear fell into the teacup, before Narcissa steeled herself. “Have you read the ransom note?”

Elliot scanned the piece of paper.   
‘ _Madame Malfoy—_

_It has come to my attention that your sister has something of the Dark Lord’s in her vault. I need it, and you need your son._

_Meet me at Gringotts at noon tomorrow, and help me retrieve it, and I will return your son._

_G.G.’_

“Do you know what this means?” Narcissa asked coolly.   
“That ratbag has kidnapped your son?” Elliot couldn’t restrain her growl. She had just _known_ it was Grindelwald, even before Hector and Remus had told her.   
Narcissa smiled slightly. “No, it means Dumbledore’s watching Draco. Which means he’s safe—Dumbledore would never intentionally harm a child.”

Elliot handed the letter back. “I certainly hope so, Madame Malfoy. Would you like any assistance from Hogwarts in the search for your son?”   
“Headmistress, as I said, there are squads of trained Aurors searching all over England for him.” Narcissa smiled. “But thank you. Have you updated the wards?”

Elliot nodded once. “I’ve had some of the world’s finest cursebreakers from Gringotts here this morning to update them further. We don’t know how Grindelwald has been getting in, but rest assured he will no longer be able to. Hogwarts has essentially been bubbled by wards. I doubt even servants of Lord Voldemort could get in easily without facing some sort of retribution. As it stands—any Dark Lord who attempts to breach the wards will be immediately fried.”

Narcissa smiled. “Headmistress Stewart, while my husband may have voted against your appointment to this position, I think that I quite like you.”   
Elliot smiled back. “Why, thank you, Madame Malfoy. I am a bit curious though—how will your sister let you into her vault?”

Narcissa leaned back. “It was a simple matter for me to visit her and tell her Lucius had lost most of our money, and Sirius controlled the Black vault. She was more than happy to give me signed permission to enter, as well as Rodolphus and Rabastan. I didn’t even have to fake the tears, and I promised to repay her once we had the chance.”   
Elliot stared. “You… you know where she is.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened. “Oh, Merlin… don’t call the Aurors.”   
Elliot swallowed. “Madame Malfoy, at this point, after having failed you and your husband in such a manner, I can hardly have you lose your sister as well. I must ask though, is she dangerous?”   
“Bellatrix has always been dangerous, but she’s not causing trouble. She’s behaving, so she doesn’t have to go back to Azkaban.” Narcissa raised her head defiantly. “I would rather go there myself than send my sister back.”

“Madame Malfoy, I deeply respect family loyalty. I won’t turn you or your sister in.”   
Narcissa nodded. “Thank you, Headmistress.”  
“Oh, _family loyalty_ , she says.” A portrait huffed from the wall. “Family loyalty, when she goes against everything I stood for, and will destroy her cousin for it!”   
“ _Salazar!_ ” Godric growled. “That is no way to speak of your heir!”

Elliot sighed. “Apologies, Madame Malfoy. But yes, Salazar Slytherin has a point—I practice family loyalty, except when it comes to Slytherin’s values, or those of Lord Voldemort.”   
Narcissa stared. “You’re a descendant of Slytherin?!”   
Elliot nodded. “I am. The American branch, involving the Sartyre family. We, in turn, are descended from the Irish branch. If I understand correctly, Voldemort comes from the English side of the family.”

“But you’re not like him.”   
“Oh, no. Of course not. I’m a halfblood, I have no use for blood purity.”   
“Are-are you as strong as him?”   
Elliot shrugged. “I’ve never faced someone of his level of power. I assume I’m not up to the task of defeating him, if that is what you want. But neither am I willing to send a child out there to defeat him alone.”

“There’s a basilisk.” Narcissa offered.   
Elliot blinked. “I will definitely look into that. Madame Malfoy, I don’t mean to hurry you, but you should probably go. Noon is quickly approaching.”   
Narcissa nodded stiffly, before giving her farewells and leaving. She had time for a brief stop at home.

Lucius was not taking Draco’s disappearance well. His beautifully maintained hair hung limp, he hadn’t changed out of the robes he’d worn to the Ministry (underneath were his pajamas, Narcissa could just _tell_ ) and everything about his bearing showed he was broken.

Narcissa ran a gentle hand through his hair, and he turned to look at her. “Have you seen anything? Did she tell you…?”   
Narcissa shook her head. “They’ve completely bubbled Hogwarts. It won’t happen again. I don’t think they’ll hurt him, Lucius.”   
“How can you be sure?”

“Because it’s Dumbledore. He’d never hurt a child.” _Intentionally_. The word hung between them. Dumbledore had been more than willing to let Quirrel run amok. To keep children near what turned out to be a _basilisk_. To keep Grindelwald nearby.   
“He’s the only one we have.” Lucius muttered.   
“He’s the only one who lived.” Narcissa corrected, fighting rising sobs.

Lucius stared at her. “You mean… beyond the first…?”   
“Two more. Neither of them lasted as long as the first one. As soon as I found out I was pregnant, they were just… gone.”   
“Narcissa…” Lucius pulled her into his lap, embracing her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”   
Narcissa shuddered. “The first one… it wasn’t yours, so it wasn’t mine.”

“What.”   
“Lucius, I’ve told you, about the Dark Lord…” Narcissa drew a shaky breath.   
Lucius pulled her into a long hug. “It was still yours. You still could have mourned it, Narcissa. I’m no monster. A-and the second?”   
“That was when I went to the house in France for a while. The Manor was stifling—”

“No, Narcissa. Why didn’t you tell me?” Lucius begged.   
“Because I thought it was my fault. That it was my family’s curse after generations of marrying one Black to another. That I would never be able to have a living baby.” She sobbed. “That you would find some other way of having an heir…”

He held her close. “I would burn England to the ground before I let that happen, even if it meant the Malfoy name would end with us.”   
Narcissa wiped her tears, smiling sadly. She had to be strong when they dealt with the snake in the grass, and Lucius’ deeply buried Gryffindor tendencies were surfacing, right on schedule, as they did about every five years or so. “I don’t think that would help, Lucius. But Draco won’t die. He can’t. We won’t let him.”   
Lucius nodded slowly. “If Grindelwald takes you too…”

“I’m an adult, Lucius. Not a child woken in the night and taken from a fortress. My sister is _Bellatrix Lestrange_. Did you truly think me weak? I can defend myself against almost anything.”   
“You’ve been in situations of compromise before.” Lucius said. “I just don’t want to lose you as well.”   
Narcissa embraced her husband. “I’ll fight him to the end.”

“And… no more secrets.” Lucius said. “Please? I… I would just… they were my children too, Narcissa. And I want you to trust me.”   
Narcissa nodded. “No more secrets. I promise.”   
He embraced her again. “Bring him home.”

Narcissa swallowed, then nodded. She stepped into the fireplace, and went to Gringotts.   
Grindelwald was waiting for her, with a ridiculously large fake mustache. “Ah, Madame Malfoy…”   
“How did you elude the Aurors with _that_?” She demanded.   
“I told them I was John Gringlegrook, professor of literature and not at all Gellert Grindelwald.”   
“And they _believed_ you?” Narcissa no longer had any hope in Aurors.

Grindelwald shrugged, before offering her his arm. The goblin at the counter read Narcissa’s note, then looked at Grindelwald. And the ghost who had inexplicably appeared next to him.   
“That’s—” The goblin began.   
“John Gringlegrook, professor of literature.” Grindelwald lied, sticking his hand forth for a handshake. Narcissa rolled her eyes, and Myrtle huffed impatiently.

The goblin’s lip curled in distaste, and he pushed Grindelwald’s hand off his desk with his pen. “Yes… follow me Madame Malfoy. And friends.”   
Narcissa _hated_ the carts with a burning passion. _Hated_ them. She hated the carts more than anything else in the world, _then_ the Dark Lord, _then_ Muggles and Mudbloods. Grindelwald was quickly carving a place for himself in that list as well.

Myrtle floated along, smirking. Grindelwald’s mustache was completely gone long before they reached the Thief’s Downfall, and he was very pouty about it. Narcissa wanted to throw him out—didn’t he understand that _Draco_ was missing?!

But eventually they slowed in front of the Lestrange vault, and Narcissa smoothed herself out and did not even _think_ of vomiting her breakfast up.   
Grindelwald seemed entirely unaffected, as did Myrtle and the goblin. A new wave of hatred washed over Narcissa. She would _not_ be like this when _he_ wasn’t.

Holding her head high, she marched into the Lestrange vault, Grindelwald and Myrtle following her.   
“Well?” She asked Grindelwald, who turned to Myrtle.   
Myrtle’s eyes took in all the wealth, before floating up and pointing at a small cup. “This one.”   
Grindelwald looked at Narcissa. “You heard her. She wants _that_ one.”

Narcissa bit back a retort. Ordinarily, she’d hotly reply that she was _not_ a house-elf. But he had Draco.   
She stomped over, summoned a ladder, and retrieved the cup. Then she nearly dropped it, as if scalded. “This is an artifact of great evil.” Narcissa hissed.   
“Wonderful. Doesn’t your husband collect those?”

Truth be told, Narcissa _had_ always found Lucius’ collection a bit silly. Who wanted to have cursed diamonds in their vault? But it made him happy, and it hadn’t hurt anyone yet, so she let him keep his items in the house. Is a house elf or two began speaking in tongues or climbing the walls and twisting its head around unnaturally, all she had to do was poke it roughly with Draco’s old broom and whack it, like a persistent spider. True, the last one had gotten away out the door, but she was _fairly_ certain it was only drinking Muggle blood as they slept, so it was really alright.

But she certainly didn’t need _him_ to know that. She handed Grindelwald the cup. “Now my son?”   
Grindelwald paused. “What time is it?”   
There was a long silence, then the goblin commented, “12:38 pm.”   
“Wonderful. Draco should be back at Hogwarts in… twenty-two minutes? Yes, I imagine they’ve just set out. Thank you very much for all of your help, Madame Malfoy. And please, in the future, tell your son more about sex. The poor boy doesn’t seem to know _anything_.”

“If you touched Draco—” Narcissa swore.   
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “What is it with this family and baseless accusations? When I woke up the boy, he’d been having a dirty dream about the Reller-Not-Reller girl. His little friends started chiming in, and before you know it, the boy was getting a crash course in female anatomy from the Zabini boy.”   
Narcissa looked disgusted. “Blaise Zabini is a fine young Pureblooded man, I hardly believe he’d tell Draco lurid tales about women’s genitalia.”

Myrtle squeaked, and the goblin stared.   
“Well… no… but he did have to explain the relatively simple concept of _hymens_ to him. _How_ did your son not know what a hymen is?”   
“We aren’t ruffians like _you_.” Narcissa hissed. “Draco had no need to know of _that_ sort of thing, and still has no need!”

“Madame, _I_ have no need to know of it. And yet I do. Furthermore, would you have just shoved him into the bedroom on his wedding night and hope he would figure it out?”   
Narcissa glared at him, and another realization came to Grindelwald. “Oh no. Oh no no no. You were going to shove him in there, hopped up on a fertility potion, having no idea what could happen?”   
“The fertility potion is part of the wedding!” Narcissa growled.   
“The fertility potion has led to _several_ scandals before, when the bride or groom was not pointed in the direction of their newlywedded partner.” Grindelwald pointed out. “And the lustful side effect doesn’t… it doesn’t _help_ anything, Madame Malfoy. We’re here now because of a man conceived under a love potion.”

“Love and lust are two _very_ different things, Grindelwald.” Narcissa growled.   
“Wait, what did you just call him?” Myrtle demanded.   
“Gringlegrook. John Gringlegrook.” Grindelwald said quickly.

Myrtle glared at him. “ _You’re_ Grindelwald, aren’t you?”   
“Yes.” He admitted.   
“You _lied_ to me!” Myrtle screamed. A tidal wave of gold rose in the place of her usual water. “You _killed_ hundreds of people, just like me!”

Narcissa narrowly evaded the rush of gold, but Grindelwald wasn’t so lucky. Nonetheless, he dug himself out, still clutching that cup, and ran.   
“You _monster_!” Myrtle screamed. The goblin shut the door in her face, stopping her from sending another wave of coins and artifacts at them.

The goblin gave a nasty smile. “The vault is protected against _everything_.”   
Narcissa could hear the ghost sobbing from the vault. “Let me out… let me out… please don’t leave me alone again… don’t trap me… you promised…”   
Grindelwald looked vaguely unsettled, before shaking it off. _Heartless monster_. Narcissa thought. But she herself didn’t turn back, she didn’t ask the goblin to release the little ghost.

They could still hear her sobbing as the cart rolled away.

In Privet Drive, Bellatrix was steaming. More accurately, she was pacing the living room while Rodolphus read the newspaper on the couch. “That Malfoy… he made my sister _destitute_!”   
Rodolphus nodded solemnly. “I’m beginning to think I should be the favorite son-in-law of Druella’s by now.”   
Bellatrix snorted. “Why would you _want_ to be? But he hurt Cissy. Did you see? She was _crying_. I’m going to cut out his liver and feed it to him.”

Rodolphus nodded again. “Narcissa is now my sister by law if nothing else. So, can I help?”   
“Oh, Roddy… you can have the heart.”   
Rodolphus blinked in surprise, looking up from his paper. “Malfoy has a heart?”   
Bellatrix wasn’t listening. “Cissy won’t be happy though… we should find her a new husband, to make up for it. Not a sniveling, useless traitor. How’s Travers?”

“Poor, and rude to women.”   
“Rookwood?”   
Rodolphus shook his head. “Married.”   
“ _Really_? Huh. Rabastan?”

“Bella, Rabastan is an aromantic asexual. While I’m sure that he and Narcissa would get along well, and become great friends, I worry that they have different needs. My first duty is to my brother.”   
“Mm, true… Dolohov’s right out, I won’t have my sister tainted by a Muggle-fucker.”   
“Who else?” Rodolphus asked.   
“What ever happened with the Carrows?” Bellatrix mused.

Rodolphus put down his newspaper. “Bella, they’re _together_.”   
“Who?”   
“The Carrows.” Rodolphus remarked with disgust. “Amycus and Alecto.”   
Bellatrix made a face. “Besides the fact that Narcissa wouldn’t want to share her bed with her husband’s _sister_ , that’s disgusting. Do _you_ have any ideas?”   
“Mulciber?” Rodolphus suggested.

Bellatrix thought for a moment. “What happened to his soulmate?”   
“She drowned, poor thing.” Rodolphus clucked. “Such a nice girl too.”   
“Hmm… I’ve been teaching him respect, so there’s that… yes, I think with a bit of cleaning up, Mulciber would do nicely.”   
“If you intend to marry him to your sister, you had better _tell_ him about that. Wouldn’t want Narcissa to show up on our doorstep to find Mulciber kissing another woman.”

Bellatrix nodded solemnly. With anyone else, she would have murdered them for the comment. Not Rodolphus.   
“You know, it was sweet of Cissy to offer to pay us back, after everything she’s done for us.” Bellatrix commented.   
“Yes, but to see just how much she needs our help, I asked Gringotts to send us our account estimation.”

“When will that arrive by?”   
“Any minute.”   
“Very convenient, that.” Bellatrix nodded.   
An owl tapped on the window.

“Even more convenient.” Rodolphus noted, before taking the owl’s letter.   
(Number 7 across the street had a flashback to Number 4 being swarmed by all manner of the creatures two years prior. Maybe it was a holdover? A lost holdover? Whatever it was, it was interesting.)   
The two of them stared at the letter.

“This is far above pre-war levels…” Rodolphus muttered.   
Bellatrix shook her head. “You’re not taking the interest into account. See, adding that, and taking the value of all our artifacts into account, there’s about 500 extra.” She sank into the couch. “Narcissa already paid us back?”

“It would seem so. A note is at the bottom, saying that 500 galleons were moved from the Malfoy vault to the Lestrange one today, as well as an ‘extra security measure’.” Rodolphus squinted at the letter. “What on Earth could _that_ mean?”   
Bellatrix smiled. “Cissy is a good girl. And maybe her panic was a little fast—I bet Malfoy sold that house in France he’s so bloody proud of. But it seems their fortune’s been more than restored.”

“Mm… pity. I was looking forward to rubbing it in Malfoy’s face.” Rodolphus sighed. “Ah, well. Good that we didn’t tell Mulciber… Bella why do you have that expression?”   
“We should still kill Malfoy.”   
“Bella, no.”   
“Bella, yes. Malfoy’s had it coming long enough. Making Cissy cry –making Cissy _destitute_!—is the last straw. Even if it only lasted a few hours, I want to drive a hot knife into his gut myself.”

Rodolphus frowned at her. “Bella, no.”   
“Why?” She pouted.   
“A hot knife would cauterize him instantly. He wouldn’t bleed. It takes all the fun out of it.”   
She giggled girlishly. “Oh Roddy… you’re so right.”

She kissed him, safe in the knowledge that unlike poor, dear Cissy or _Stupid Blood Traitor Andy!_ Her husband was a loyal, good man. She particularly liked how ruthless he was.

Draco Malfoy was unaware of his aunt’s feelings, and likely wouldn’t have _wanted_ to know. At the moment, he was walking back to Hogwarts with Dumbledore.   
“Ah, Mister Malfoy, though your stay was quite brief, I did enjoy our time together.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “You’re a fine player of Wizard Chess.”   
Draco shrugged, but nodded his thanks. “You’re an excellent cook.”

They crossed the wards.   
“Oof…” Dumbledore grimaced. “I can only imagine what that could have done to Gellert.”   
Draco covered his ears as an alarm began to ring shrilly.   
People poured out of the castle. McGonagall began reprimanding Dumbledore, Lupin had him sequestered away, there was Harry and Blaise and Theo and _Astoria_ but he couldn’t quite hear anything over the alarm.

He caught snatches.

“…ridiculously irresponsible… how could you?!”   
“…you alright?... some chocolate?”   
“…still in pajamas…”   
“…happened?”   
“…Grindelwald…”

Suddenly, the ringing stopped. Draco, and the rest turned to stare at the Headmistress. “ _Dumbledore_.” The scorn rolled off of her tongue like a raindrop on a leaf.   
“Madame Stewart.”   
Elliot marched across the lawn, a blaze of fury. “You and your cohort _kidnapped_ a student!”

“For the greater good.” Dumbledore reminded her gently. “Lemon drop?”   
Elliot looked as though she wished to punch him. “ _No_. I don’t want a lemon drop. I want an explanation, and I want assurances that you and Grindelwald won’t sneak onto school land and kidnap _my_ students when it strikes your fancy!”   
“Madame Stewart, it had to do with very dark forces you know.” Dumbledore winked. “It will help young Harry Potter defeat Voldemort.”

Elliot froze. “You’re using _children_.”   
“Well, yes, but—”   
“But _nothing_. They’re not yours, anymore. They’re not your pawns, they’re not _anything_ to you. They’re _my_ students now. Mine. Not yours. And if you or your lover _ever_ set foot on Hogwarts land without my permission, I _will_ assume you plan to harm them. And I will act accordingly.”

Dumbledore looked sad. “Madame Stewart…this isn’t just about a few children. It’s so much more. And I would never hurt the children.”   
Most of the children raised an eyebrow at this, as did Elliot. “I doubt that, Headmaster. If you were thinking of the children first and foremost, you would have reached out to some of the other schools, even more of the _Eleven_ , for recommendations of good teachers instead of idiots like Lockhart and Trelawney and menaces like Quirrell and Snape. Given how long you’ve had this problem, I wonder why you haven’t hired competent professors like Remus and Hector long before.”

“Severus Snape was highly competent in his subject.”   
“But not with _children_. The entire point of the exercise revolved around _children_. You’re so obsessed with the ‘greater good’, with being completely right all the time, that you didn’t stop to think that your time as savior of the world and destroyer of Dark Lords is _over_. It was over when you took Grindelwald in. It was over the moment you became Headmaster, and decided that all your machinations were worth _more_ than the children you had sworn to protect.”

Dumbledore looked sad, and tired. “My dear lady, you’re a foreigner. I don’t expect you to understand Lord Voldemort…”   
“I am Elliot Stewart, descendant of Martha Stewart, daughter of Isolt Sartyre, daughter of Rionach Gaunt.” Elliot snapped. “I assure you, I know _quite_ well the tale of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”   
“Then you know what Gellert and I are doing?”

“No, and I _don’t_ care. You took one of _my_ students, and that will _never_ happen again. I don’t care if you had the boy for less than twelve hours—he is in _my_ care, and he will remain that way until the end of his stay at Hogwarts, as will the rest!”   
Dumbledore sighed. “There is more at stake than you could ever know.”   
Elliot’s wand was in her hand before he could blink. “For me, what is at stake is the health, welfare, and happiness of a thousand children. You’ve had your chances to stop my cousin. You didn’t. Stop dragging Hogwarts into your insanity, because the next time you do, I _will_ kill you.”

The staff gasped.   
Dumbledore sighed. “Madame Stewart, if we could speak privately…”   
“If you make an Unbreakable Vow never to touch one of my students again.” Elliot snapped.   
Dumbledore stiffened, then nodded. “Minerva?”

A few moments later, it was done.   
“Get back to class.” Elliot ordered. “Draco Malfoy, come to my office in thirty minutes. Hector, make sure he’s not hurt. Remus, send an owl to the Malfoys.”   
Everyone nodded, and scurried away. Elliot and Dumbledore walked to his office, and she nodded to the gargoyle. “Pukwudgie.”   
“Why is _he_ back?” The gargoyle asked.

Elliot shrugged, then proceeded to her office, sitting behind her desk. “Well, Dumbledore?”   
“Are you aware that your cousin has made a horcrux?” Dumbledore asked.   
Elliot shook her head. “That being…?”

“A very Dark bit of magic, involving tearing off parts of his soul, and placing them in objects, or… people.”   
“People?” Elliot asked suspiciously. “Like who?”   
“Well, I believe that he went to the Potters’ home in Godric’s Hollow that night ready to make a horcrux. And… because of the proximity, when Lily Potter died…”

Elliot’s expression didn’t change.   
Dumbledore sighed. “I believe Harry Potter is one of Voldemort’s horcruxes.”   
“Your point being?”   
“Harry will have to be destroyed by Voldemort himself, according to the prophecy.”

“And who gave this prophecy?” Elliot drummed her fingers on her desk.   
“Sybil Trelawney.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “I know she doesn’t seem like much, but in this instance—”   
“You want me to send a child to a monster like a sacrificial lamb on the word of a _drunk_.” Elliot hissed.   
“Harry must be the one to defeat Voldemort, but he cannot do that with Voldemort inside of him.” Dumbledore replied coolly.

Elliot’s eyes burned with hatred. “He can’t do it when he’s dead, either. And I assume you haven’t told him you’re planning to sacrifice him like this? Rest assured, I _will_.”   
“No!” Dumbledore growled. “You _mustn’t_! Everything is going perfectly to plan, you cannot ruin it!”

Elliot stared him down. “To _plan_? And how long has this plan of yours been going on? How long have you known about Harry’s situation?”   
“Since his first year.” Dumbledore admitted. “I realized it could only endear the Wizarding World to him more. I’m not proud of it, but…”   
“But you’re happy to keep a child in an abusive home to make sure he’ll die young.” Elliot snarled. “You disgust me.”

“I know you must feel this way, Madame Stewart, but… _please_ , the Wizarding World needs this.”   
“All it would mean would be he is the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice.” Elliot snorted, before rising and looking out her window. “But now we know several things; one, Harry Potter has been raised this way specifically. Two, given my cousin’s weapon of choice, an Avada Kedavra can _hopefully_ dispatch a horcrux. Three, Harry’s status as a horcrux is likely what vanquished my cousin. Four, tests have _not_ been conducted as to whether any other method regarding horcrux extraction can be used upon Harry Potter without harming him. Thank you, Dumbledore, and good day.” At this last bit, she turned on her heel and gave him a small wave. 

“You can’t…” Dumbledore gaped at her.   
“I think you’ll find that not only I _can_ , I _will_.” Elliot huffed. “Now. Out. The Malfoys will be here soon, and I would _hate_ for them to catch you here.” Elliot smirked, implying that she’d like nothing more than for Lucius and Narcissa to find him there.   
Dumbledore scowled. “You’re making a grievous mistake.”

Elliot paused. “Now, I know that you more than anyone has experience with ‘grievous mistakes’, but I also know you have trouble recognizing them. Therefore, so long, farewell, auf wiedersehn, adieu.”

“Madame, you can’t intend—”   
“Leave, or I will scatter the contents of our conversation over the pages of the _Daily Prophet_.” Elliot growled.   
Dumbledore paled, then left.


	24. Let's All Take a Moment to Appreciate Blaise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Blaise ever be prosecuted for murder? No. Because snitches don't even get stitches. The Zabinis don't mess around.

Suffice to say, both Lucius and Narcissa were overjoyed to see their son back in safe hands.   
Draco, with typical teenage embarrassment, pointed out that he was gone for less time than he’d been away at Hogwarts, yet leaned into their hugs.   
“Never again.” Narcissa promised.   
Lucius leveled a look at Elliot. “Yes. Never again.”

Elliot looked up from her papers. “I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, I have no intention of having _any_ student subjected to Dumbledore’s machinations ever again.”   
Narcissa grabbed Lucius’ arm, and shook her head. Not here. Not now. Not her.   
“Thank you.” Lucius nodded slowly.   
Elliot shrugged. “No problem, Mr. Malfoy.”

“She threatened _Dumbledore_.” Draco whispered excitedly. And that was all it took for the current loyalty of the Malfoy family.   
Of course, there was much kisses and hugs and assurances, all while the delicate _scratch-scritch_ of Elliot’s pen on the paper accompanied the family in the background.   
Finally, Lucius and Narcissa left, and Elliot and Draco were left alone.

“So…” Draco began.   
“So?” Elliot asked, looking up from her papers.   
“Do I get time off for this traumatizing event?” Draco made his eyes go wide.   
Elliot put down her pen and folded her hands underneath her chin. “That all depends, Mr. Malfoy. Do you intend to make up your classwork of this morning _now_ , or _later_?”   
Draco scowled. “Now, I guess.”

“Good lad. I doubt Remus or Hector would give you homework though, and once you’ve got the Slytherin, the rest should be easy.” Elliot smiled. “I do suggest you go clean yourself up though. We’re a school, not a slumber party.”   
Draco blinked in surprise, before scurrying off to change into his day-clothes.

The rest of the day proceeded usually, until supper time. Draco received a great deal of sugary treats as sympathy for his ordeal.   
“Uh…”   
“Is something wrong, Draco?” Pansy asked.   
“No, nothing is wrong.” Draco grinned.

“Then eat it.” She huffed.   
And he did.

Approximately ten minutes later, he was cackling madly on top of a table.   
“I think we just triggered the Black Family Madness.” Theodore mused.

Hector Dagworth-Granger slipped away from the High Table after a look from Elliot. “Mr. Malfoy…”   
Still cackling, Draco leapt off of the table, and pulled Astoria into a long kiss.   
“Can we blame Dumbledore for this?” Elliot asked McGonagall.   
Blaise and Theo looked at each other, then at how Astoria was reacting to Draco.

“What is _wrong_ with you?!” Astoria spat, finally able to wrench herself away. Ginny rose from the Gryffindor table, followed by her brothers, who in turn began to inspire more Gryffindors to come after them. In turn, Slytherin stood up. This was _their_ business, and Gryffindor had been asking for it for a while.   
“Nothing’s wrong with me.” Draco smirked.

“You’re not acting like yourself.” Astoria growled. “Something’s wrong.”   
“Oh? And how do I normally act?”   
“Like you actually care what I have to say, for one!” Astoria snarled.   
Blaise and Theodore rose to head off the oncoming conflict.

“Draco, I think we should leave, before either of the Greengrass sisters punches you.” Blaise pointed out. “Astoria’s right, you’re not acting like yourself…”   
Draco turned to face him, eyes unfocused, but still wearing that stupid smirk. “Oh? Is that _so_? I think I like this much better.”   
“This is why he never eats dessert…” Theodore mused. “Because otherwise he turns into an asshole.”

Draco-Not-Draco glared at Theodore. “I assume you’re the one feeding lies to my soulmate?”   
Astoria was about to run, but his hand closed around her wrist, drawing her to him. “Don’t worry, darling, we’ll be together _forever_.”   
“That’s creepy.” Blaise noted.   
“ _Really_ creepy.” Theodore agreed. “Where’s Daphne?”

“Studying in the library.”   
“Oh dear.”   
Astoria twisted and writhed and tried to kick Draco. Professor Dagworth-Granger was trying to head off the encroaching battle between Slytherin and Gryffindor, which accounted for why the Gryffindors hadn’t reached them yet.   
“Draco, why don’t we leave the nice girl alone and go get something to drink?” Blaise cooed.   
“Why don’t we stop the ‘one step forward, marathon back’ process that you’ve begun.” Theodore agreed.

Draco snarled at them. “You won’t take her from me! I’ll kill all four of us before that happens!”   
Astoria tried to cast several curses on him, though he grasped her wand-hand. Next she tried to bite him and scratch him. Draco didn’t seem to notice.   
“Come, my sweet. There’s something I’d like to show you…” He cooed. Astoria froze, then her eyes darted to Blaise and Theodore. “Don’t leave me alone with him.”

“We would _never_.” Blaise said in surprise.   
Astoria resumed trying to get rid of Draco. “Let _go_ of me!”   
“Not until you’re mine, and no one—” Here he shot a nasty look at Theodore and Blaise. “—will take you away from me.”   
“I don’t _want_ you like this!” Astoria growled.   
“Pity. I want _you_.” Draco-Not-Draco whispered huskily.

Astoria’s eyes darted to Theodore and Blaise again. “Help.”   
Theodore drew his wand, while Blaise jumped in front of Draco. “Hey, hey, we _don’t_ want to do this…!”   
“I rather think I do.” Draco snapped. “Stand aside, or I’ll blast you away.”

“No.”   
Draco raised his wand as the noise in the Great Hall ground to a halt. “Sec—”   
“Stupefy.” Theodore’s voice rang out. Draco-Not-Draco fell to the ground (unfortunately on top of Astoria).   
The teachers hustled along.   
“Was he… was he about to kill me?” Blaise breathed.

“Something close to that.” Theodore shrugged. “Astoria, whoever this was, _whatever_ it was, it wasn’t Draco.”   
Astoria glared at him. “Aren’t either of you worried that the sugar basically intoxicated him? That it worked like alcohol, coaxing out thoughts he never thought he’d say, but were buried deep down? Aren’t you worried that he hates you? That he’s grown so tired of chasing me, that he’d like to just take what he thinks is his? I am.”

“Draco would never.” Theodore stared at her.   
Astoria stared back. “Draco would _never_. But Draco did.”    
“Astoria, _please_. He’s not himself.”   
“And the third verse is the same as the first. I am not going to trust him on the off-chance that he _won’t_ hurt me.”   
“You haven’t trusted him much before.” Theodore spat.

Astoria looked at her wrist pointedly, then gathered her skirts and stepped away from Draco. “And you wonder why?”   
“Maybe it wouldn’t have happened if you had just given him a chance!”   
“Ah, yes. Because this is entirely my fault. It’s entirely my fault that he just tried to kill Blaise!” Astoria screamed.

“He wasn’t aiming for Blaise, he was aiming for you!”   
Blaise stepped between them, pulling them both into a tight hug. “Isn’t it great how we all get along?”   
“Get off, Blaise!”   
“So great.” His grip tightened.

“Are you all alright?” Harry asked, walking up to them.  
Blaise’s already vise-like grip tightened. “Never better!”   
“Why is Draco passed out then, and you’re gripping Theodore and Astoria like they’ll both run off?”   
“Oh, that. Astoria is scared and then she was yelled at by Theodore. Theodore, for his part, has been coming up with how this could have been avoided, and has come to the conclusion that _maybe_ Draco wouldn’t be so weird about Astoria if she had fallen in love with him instead of Ginny Weasley.”

“Blaise!” Astoria hissed.   
“None of this explains anything about this evening.”   
Blaise laughed. “Poor, predictable Potter. You’re never going to get an explanation.”

“This is all very odd. Do any of you need to stay up in Gryffindor Tower tonight?” Harry asked as the teachers spirited Draco away.  
“What do you mean?” Blaise asked.   
“Your house is on the brink of war. You just fought your best friend. You can lie to yourself and your minions, you can claim you haven’t a qualm, but _someone_ has got to be shaken up after all of this. It isn’t normal, even for _you_ guys.”

Blaise shrugged, but he didn’t release Astoria and Theodore. “What is _normal_?”   
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Coming from you lot, that’s an excellent question. Astoria, how are you holding up?”   
Astoria drew a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”

“He didn’t hurt you?” Hermione asked.   
“He _didn’t_.” Theodore hissed. “I see you’re all fair-weather friends!”   
“Do you need to spend more time in the get-along hug?” Blaise demanded.   
“No! How _dare_ you all! Draco Malfoy was my first friend, I would know better than anyone that he would _never_ hurt Astoria!”

Blaise frowned. “Did you see how violent he was? If Astoria had tried to get him to back off, who knows what he would have done? Normally, Draco would never. But we can’t say that—”   
Theodore struggled out of Blaise’s grip. “We never would have let it get that far! I stunned him myself!”   
Astoria also writhed out of his grip and ran to the Gryffindors.

“I see you all stand there.” Theodore huffed. “Fine.”   
“What is _going on_?” Ron demanded. “You can’t say that we’re no longer friends if you won’t tell us what’s going on!”   
“Draco went mad and started being creepy and violent with Astoria. Theodore ended up stunning him. You know the rest.” Blaise huffed. “Can we just move to the subplot with the play? That was a nice, good, innocent subplot.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Hermione asked.   
“Oh, never mind. You’re Gryffindors, you wouldn’t understand.” Theodore growled. “Draco isn’t in his right mind. He’s not to blame for this!” With that, the Slytherin turned and stomped away.   
Blaise sighed. “While I agree that Draco dealing with the ‘Black Family Madness’ isn’t his fault, I am going to keep an eye on his behavior from now on. I know the signs of abuse.”

“How?” Harry asked in surprise.   
“My mother’s fourth husband was… cruel… to her. It’s just as well that Leo Zabini committed suicide less than a month later.”   
“I thought _you_ were Zabini. Or the latest one, at least.”   
“Oh, no. My original father died a long time ago, in a tragic fire. It broke my mother’s heart. Since then, she’s remarried multiple times, mostly to Italian men who understand the prestige of the Zabini name, and take it for their own. Mostly, they mysteriously die.” Blaise smirked. “And rest assured, Astoria, if Draco is… threatening… like that again, I can make him end up in the Hospital Wing for a month if you so choose.”

“You’re his best friend. You’d never poison him.” Astoria hissed.   
Blaise looked around. “Who said anything about poison? But I will say this—Draco will be mortified and devastated when he wakes up. He thought he had come so far with you. I think he’ll be happy to be spending another month hidden under blankets and bandages and unable to act in a way he deems unproper towards you again.”

“If that’s the case, why did Nott just go stomping off?” Ginny asked, approaching them.   
“Because Theodore thinks we’ve all turned on Draco. Which we haven’t, we’ve simply turned on Scary Draco. Oh, and Astoria?”   
“Yeah?”   
“I recommend staying in public places as much as possible after something like that, but in the end, I’m more willing to guess that he’s going to grovel for your forgiveness.”

“I don’t _want_ him to! I never wanted any of this!” Astoria looked near tears.   
Blaise shrugged. “I don’t think you and Draco are ready for each other yet. In a few years, sure. Not now. Not yet. I suspect you’re meant to strike a balance like Pansy and Theodore, but there’s also the element of devotion that could sprout like the sisters Black are purported to have. For now, you’re both too passionate, and it’s driving you mad.”

“How do you know so much about love?” Hermione asked.   
“Is it because you’re Italian?” Ron added.   
Blaise scowled. “It’s because I’m the son of a perpetual widow who has had eight husbands. It’s none of this ‘Latin Lover’ business.”   
“Malfoy’s French.” Harry pointed out.

“That’s an entirely different trope.” Blaise huffed. “Come on, we should be there when he wakes up, no matter what Theodore says. Also, I don’t want to leave Theodore to Draco’s parents’ mercy.”    
“I thought it was _six_ husbands?” Astoria whispered to Ginny, who shrugged.   
“It depends on the mood of those around me and how receptive they are to my stepfather’s unfortunate deaths.” Blaise noted, before leading the others out of the room.

Harry walked with him. “Blaise, don’t take this the wrong way, but how did they all die?”   
“Oh, a variety of ways. My father was killed by a fire in our home. Stepfather 1 was gutted by a… woman of the night… while enjoying her services. Stepfather 2 was clumsily poisoned. Stepfather 3 had an awful run-in with the neighbor’s dog. Four drove off a bridge, five drowned when he had the inclination to buy a boat, six got struck by lightning, seven ‘had a heart attack’, and eight hasn’t died yet.”

“…these were the unluckiest men I’ve ever heard of.” Harry said slowly.   
Blaise grinned. “Well, my father, five, and three certainly were.”   
“Blaise, your mother murdered the rest? Why?”   
“Oh, not all of them. I killed some of them. Specifically, two and seven.”

“ _Blaise_ , you’re _thirteen_. What are you doing murdering people?”   
Blaise shrugged. “Not all of them were right for my mother. All of the ones who didn’t die by accident were cruel, only after my father’s money, so when they hurt her, they were… punished. Sometimes by me, sometimes by her. I actually quite liked Five. He was a bit thick, but a good man. I think he truly loved my mother. He also had an odd obsession with the sea, I think we should have realized sooner how he would have died.”   
“And three?”

“He took me to the candy store quite often, and doted on me like his own. It’s tragic that he met his end at the hands of a Chihuahua.”   
“A _Chihuahua_? Blaise, how did he die?”   
“He was drunk and allergic to dogs. It sat on his face. He suffocated. Mother was despondent at his funeral.”

Harry stared at his friend. “Are you… are you joking?”   
Blaise looked offended. “Harry, why would I ever joke about the death of one of the only stepfathers I’ve actually liked?”   
Harry fell back to Ron and Hermione. “Right, all Slytherins are stark, raving mad.”   
“You’re _just_ realizing that?” Ron snorted.

“My great-uncle is a Slytherin.” Hermione said primly.   
“Your _racist_ great-uncle?” Harry asked, one eyebrow raised.   
Hermione huffed. “I know, and it’s rather awful, but it’s better to just nod and smile and get him talking about potions. At least it’s casual racism—Malfoy’s said far worse, and we’re off to go see if he’s _alright_!”   
“ _Everyone_ is mental.” Ron amended. “Maybe it’s how long we’ve spent around Slytherins. Can’t be good for our health.”

Harry and Hermione nodded solemnly, and their procession finally reached the Hospital Wing.   
“We’ve arrived!” Blaise threw open the doors with a flourish.   
“WHAT?!” Draco yelled from behind a curtain.   
“Well, that’s rude.” Blaise huffed, waving the Gryffindors past him but stopping Astoria.

Draco huffed from his bed. “Not you, Blaise… come here.”   
“What are we, chopped liver?” Harry huffed.   
“Might as well be.” Theodore growled.

“And _I_ am purportedly the weird one.” Blaise snorted. “Does Pansy know you’ve got your knickers in a twist over Draco?”   
Theodore rose. “I don’t know why you insist on making jokes, _Blaise_. The fact of the matter is that when Draco needed you—”   
“Did I miss something? Last time I checked, _I_ was the one he almost killed, and _you_ were the one who stunned him.”

“Yes, because that’s what he needed _then_. What he did _not_ need was your commentary!”   
“So you _don’t_ think he went insane?” Blaise asked, nonplussed. “Is this a normal occurrence for you, Draco?”   
Draco looked at Harry. “What’s going on?”

“No clue.” Harry answered honestly.   
“You and Astoria looked like you got into a fight.” Hermione said.   
“You stood on the table and cackled.” Ron added. “You went completely _mental_.”

Draco somehow paled. “I… it was the Black Family Madness, wasn’t it? Oh, gods, what did I say to Astoria?”   
Theodore paused, looking at the others, before saying, “You aren’t mad that they…?”   
“What? Oh, no. Thank you for your loyalty Theodore, but when my mother was like that at my age she burned down the Quidditch field. The Quidditch field, Theodore. Because she thought my father liked it better than her. She did it in the middle of practice too. The Gryffindors nearly died.”

The others slowly looked at Draco.   
“That’s… intense.” Harry commented.   
“Oh, it really is.” Draco agreed. “Mother _can_ be a bit intense.”   
“So it’s good that all Draco did was scare Astoria.”

“Okay, seriously, _what_ did I say?”   
“It’s not so much what you said… though the bit about being together forever was creepy… it’s more about how you wouldn’t let her go, and grabbed at her wrists, and tried to murder me for helping her.” Blaise pointed out.   
“Oh, Freya, she must hate me now…” Draco moaned.

Astoria stepped out from behind the screens. Draco immediately froze.   
“I don’t.” Astoria said. “I mean, I don’t really _like_ you, but no more than before.”   
“So you’ll allow me to woo you?” Draco asked hopefully.   
Astoria wrinkled her nose. “Ew, _no_. I don’t _hate_ you, that’s all.”

“Better than nothing.” Harry observed.   
Draco glared at him. “Oh, stow it, Potter. Everyone knows _your_ soulmate has been head-over-heels for you for years. Some of us actually have to _work_ to make ours fall in love with us.”   
“Ginny has had a celebrity crush on me. It doesn’t count.”   
“Um, _hello_? Richest bachelor in England _and_ France, anyone?”

Astoria looked peeved. “I don’t need your money.”   
“And you’re thirteen, and she’s eleven. I hardly think you have to worry about golddiggers at this age.” Hermione sniffed.   
“Just to be clear, you’re talking about goblins, correct?” Blaise asked.   
“Goblins are _bankers_.” Ron corrected. “They don’t actually dig the gold. Bill told me.”

“But if I don’t have to worry about goblins, what _do_ I have to worry about?” Draco wondered.   
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “Unbelievable.”   
“I’m more concerned about the fact that the Wizarding World apparently doesn’t have any mining operations.” Harry commented.   
“What about the lead and tin and copper and whatnot?” Hermione asked.   
Harry shrugged. “I mean, you’d expect the fancy pants Slytherins to know about mining operations, but they don’t even know who does the mining. That’s a giant red flag regarding Wizarding resources.”

“Well, it’s not as though we can just _buy_ a Muggle mine.” Draco snorted.   
Harry and Hermione looked at each other.   
“Don’t tell him, I want to become extremely rich to stick it to the Pureblood supremacists.” Hermione said.   
“Fair enough. I’m willing to help you with start-up money though, in exchange for…60:40?”   
“Please, Harry. You can have 30% of the profits.”

“35%, final offer.” Harry said.   
“Fine.” Hermione grinned. “I’ll hold you to it.”   
Draco clutched Blaise’s sleeve. “Blaise, what do they _know_? Is this some sort of odd Muggle thing? Do the Muggles have the ability to acquire more gold? Blaise, Blaise tell me.”

“I have absolutely no idea, but I _don’t_ think they’re going to tell us.” Theodore interjected. Astoria crossed her arms and huffed.   
“Yes, because you’re being so obvious about it!” Ron huffed, before looking at Harry and Hermione. “Seriously, what are you two talking about?”   
Hermione pulled him over, and whispered in his ear.

“But… what about the International Statute…?” Ron began.   
Hermione whispered harder.   
“Oh. Well, that’s a nice idea you two have…” Ron sighed.   
Harry grinned. “Ron, did you honestly think we were going to lump you in with that lot? I automatically assumed you’d join us.”

“Harry, you should ask.” Hermione admonished him. “And of course, we need to do research, so as to not make any careless mistakes and accidentally poison any nearby water supplies.”   
“I don’t know what Granger is up to, but I _like_ it.” Blaise grinned.


	25. The Great Noodle Incident Reference Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The Ember Island Players', which 'The Boy in The Iceberg' is a reference to, aired July 14th, 2008 in the Muggle world (and America). I will not let time and space and magic keep me from making shitty avatar jokes. Be prepared for more as I find the perfect Commander Zhao quote to work in seamlessly for Lucius Malfoy.

“Please?” Theodore made large eyes at the gargoyle.  
“Are you kidding me? You and your little friends have joined the Potter kid as the most trouble Elliot’s seen, and you just want me to let you in? Without a password or permission? Kid, I didn’t let the Marauders in, I’m not going to let the Accidental Marauders in either.”  
“Accidental Marauders?” Theodore asked.  
“Yeah, the statues and paintings have a nickname for you lot. You’re as much trouble as Sirius Black and his friends, and you’re not even _trying_.”

Professor Lupin loomed into view. “Why, hello, Theodore.”  
“This one was the smart one.” The gargoyle hissed. “The other three would never have been able to cause so much trouble without him.”  
“Well, now that’s rude.” Lupin huffed. “Sirius in particular was quite smart.”  
“ _This_ one is also quite smart, yet he and the Slytherins have been absorbed into the Golden Trio of Troublemakers. Is it _so much_ to ask that one generation behaves?”

“There will always be children at Hogwarts. How do we separate the generations?” Lupin queried.  
The gargoyle gave him an ugly look. “You know _exactly_ what I mean. Nothing but trouble, the lot of you.”  
“I would have thought we made your day more interesting.”  
“ _You_ did. James Potter Jr. _continuously_ attracts the most dangerous thing in England at the time. Can you sit him down sometime and have the Lily Evans genes surface?”  
“But what about that incident involving Lily, Snape, the house-elves, and the tea-tray?” Lupin asked.

The gargoyle scowled. “If I could quit, I would.”  
Theodore cleared his throat, shuffling the papers in front of him. “Regardless, can we go in?”  
“Hmm? Oh, of course, Theodore. What’s that you have there?” Lupin asked.  
“Plays.” Theodore answered seriously.

“Really? Oh, _wampus_. I can’t recall a school play during my time at school.”  
“Believe me, following the incident with the ashwinder eggs, I’m glad _you lot_ weren’t allowed near the idea.” The gargoyle sniffed. “And Professor Stewart knows better than to give _this lot_ access to something like that.”  
“Ashwinder eggs?” Lupin asked.

“From the ‘Fountain of Fair Fortune’. For the wyrm.”  
“I always quite liked that tale…” Lupin mused. “It’s my favorite Wizarding fairy tale.”  
“What’s your favorite Muggle one?” Theodore asked as they proceeded up the stairs, checking his scripts.  
“Hmm… if Sirius were here, he’d twist my arm into saying ‘Red Riding Hood’, but truth be told, I’ve always enjoyed ‘Peter Pan’ the most.”

Theodore handed Lupin a script.  
“Oh, my.” Lupin murmured, flipping through this. “Wait, this doesn’t look like the movie as far as I can recall.”  
“They made it into a play.” Theodore explained, before entering Elliot’s office.

“Remus, did you get a reply from Ilvermorny yet?” Elliot asked.  
“Well, yes, but you’re not going to like it… anyway, here’s Theodore Nott!”  
Elliot looked up. “I don’t want Theodore Nott right now. I have a lot of work to do.”

“I’ll try to be brief.” Theodore promised, before spreading the scripts out upon her desk. Upon doing so, he retrieved ‘Peter Pan’ from Lupin, and added that as well. “I would like to reinstate the school play.”  
The portraits immediately began howling with disdain.

Elliot remained silent, before saying, “You do understand why they were abolished? I think the scandal over the Muggle/Pureblood marriage in ‘The Fountain of Fair Fortune’ had a bit to do with it as well…”  
“These aren’t the Fountain of Fair Fortune.” Theodore promised. “They’re predominantly Muggle, so _no_ ashwinders.”

Elliot eyed ‘Peter Pan’. “But no end of other problems… alright, I’ll quickly go through these. No Peter Pan.”  
“Why not?” Lupin asked.  
Elliot raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I have Pocomtuc, and Abenaki, ancestry. I _don’t_ like Peter Pan that much. Especially the 1953 movie.”  
Theodore slid the script off of the table. “Right, but it’s not—”  
He trailed off after Elliot gave him a look, before she moved to the next one.

“The _Crucible_?” Elliot sighed.  
Lupin made a sort of choking noise that could have very well been poorly disguised laughter.  
“It’s Muggle, yet has witches.” Theodore explained.  
Elliot pinched the bridge of her nose. “It involves _hanging_ people for witchcraft. The board of governors would be _mightily_ displeased. Next option?”

“The Boy in the Iceberg?” Theodore proposed.  
Elliot covered her mouth to hide her smile. Unbidden, the image of Draco Malfoy in make-up and a tousled wig (both applied with the skill of an unexperienced teenager) rose to mind, shaking his head and saying, “Maybe it’s best if we… split up.”  
“No, I don’t think that would work either, but let’s put it on the back-burner.” Elliot managed to say.

Theodore looked disappointed, but nodded. “The Wizard of Oz?”  
Elliot leaned back. Frank L. Baum wasn’t explicitly racist, (though that good witches being pretty may cause some anger from historically Dark houses), it included magic, the Muggle lead didn’t marry any of the magical folk, and at least a _third_ of the witches portrayed had been left alive by the end of the movie.The other two thirds though…

“No, I don’t think we’re ready for it yet.” Elliot sighed. “If we are going to do this, it needs to be perfect.”  
“Alice in Wonderland?” Theodore asked.  
“Hard to handle set changes.”  
“Something by Shakespeare?” Theodore pleaded.

“You need to be more specific. Nothing too violent, Theodore. And nothing that will bore our audiences to tears with archaic language.”  
“The Cursed Child? The Rocky Horror Show? The Phantom of the Opera? Pygmalion? Equus?”  
“No paradoxes, God no, if you can show me anyone who is good at singing, let’s move that to the backburner, and Dear God in Heaven certainly not.”

“What’s Equus?” Lupin asked innocently.  
“It’s about horses.” Elliot said shortly. “And it’s not going to be performed here, because the Board would kill me if I allowed children to run around naked.”  
Lupin blinked in surprise. “Oh my.”  
Theodore sighed. “I thought Harry would make an excellent lead.” 

Elliot pinched the bridge of her nose again. “I would hesitate to let a seventeen year old play that role, let alone a _thirteen_ year old. Do you have anything else?”  
“Actually, Ihave one more idea— a play written here at Hogwarts, by students about the Founders, and how Hogwarts came to be.”  
Elliot folded her hands underneath her chin. “On one condition—you get a Muggleborn interested in history to write it with you.”

“Hermione Granger.” Lupin corrected.  
“Sure. Hermione Granger has to help you, and you _cannot_ be too biased.” Elliot said.  
Gryffindor laughed from his portrait. “No chance of that, I was a Muggleborn myself!”  
“Also talk to Gryffindor and Slytherin. And try to find a portrait of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff if you can.” Elliot added, before leaning back to look at Gryffindor. “You were No-Maj-born?”

“It doesn’t count.” Slytherin growled. “We’ve been over this, Godric.”  
“A truly invaluable resource.” Lupin remarked as Slytherin and Gryffindor began squabbling happily.  
“Well, I think it’s _delightful_ that my heir is going to write a play about us! People will finally realize how hurtful your betrayal was!”  
“We’ve been over this— _Headmisstress Stewart_ is your heir, not Theodore!”

Elliot and Lupin slowly looked at Theodore.  
“I have no idea what they’re talking about.” Theodore said calmly.  
Elliot leaned forward, interlinking her fingers in front of her mouth, before sitting up and saying, “You’re my cousin’s kid, aren’t you?”  
“N-no…”  
“It’s not as though we’ll tell anyone.” Elliot promised. “I just need to know what I’m up against in the long run.”

“I wouldn’t join him.” Theodore hissed.  
Elliot smiled. “Then we have nothing to worry about. Now, I think you should go find Hermione Granger. You must, after all, ask her about whether or not she wants to work with you.”  
Theodore set off, and Elliot turned to Lupin. “Now, about Ilvermorny?”

“They want to send the excesses as soon as possible.” Lupin sighed.  
“I thought we were getting them next year? It’s far too late for them now.” Elliot scowled. “We need new faculty, new quarters, _everything_ anyway.”  
“I know, but they’re worried the students will fall behind or we’ll be swamped with all the first years.” Lupin sighed.

Elliot tapped her chin pensively with her pen. “Tell them to send us some of the older students as well next year. It’s the only way we’ll be able to accommodate everyone. And Remus, thank you for being my go-between. I truly appreciate it.”  
“No problem.” Lupin assured her. “I’m happy to take care of admittances. Um… we probably should get someone on top of that, though. Like a professional someone.”

Elliot sighed. “I know. But for some reason, I can’t find the ledger so I can learn how much money we have in the coffers.”  
“Dumbledore probably knows.” Lupin mused.  
Elliot raised an eyebrow. “I’m not talking to him unless I have to. ‘Dumbledore, where’s the ledger?’ ‘Tell me where my deranged lover Grindelwald and I can kidnap children and I’ll tell you.’ I’m not doing it.”  
“He’s not that bad.” Lupin chuckled.

Elliot rolled her eyes. “Your bias is showing.”  
“As is yours, Headmistress. If you want to get the ledgers, you’re going to _have_ to talk to him.”  
Elliot sighed. “I mean, I guess so. He’s just so infuriating… come with me as back-up?”  
“Honestly, while I would love to see Dumbledore again, I have class soon.” Remus glanced at his watch.  
Elliot sighed again. “I swear, everything will be so much easier when we have more teachers and you’re free from the imminent death or whatever my idiot cousin put on the job.”

“A jinx.” Lupin commented as they both proceeded to the door. “And you won’t get rid of me that easily.”  
“I think you’ll prefer being a teacher to an admissions officer.” Elliot replied bluntly. “Especially with the massive influx of Ilvermorny students—duck!”

The two dived to the floor as a mass of furniture came flying at them through the door to Elliot’s office.  
“What was that?” Lupin demanded.  
Elliot drummed her fingers on the stone. “My stuff has finally arrived. Well, now I can’t go visit Dumbledore, and I need that ledger… can you go?”  
“Class, remember?”

“To quote you Englishmen, bugger. _Accio_ schedule.”  
Lupin stood, and eventually Elliot did so as well, stepping back into her office properly. Furniture was strewn haphazardly around the room, including a carrier box that was rattling and screeching.  
“Shush, Sam. Remus, can you find Minerva and ask her to talk to Dumbledore?” Elliot said, placing the schedule back on her desk.  
Lupin glanced at the box again, only able to determine that it held some type of bird. “Of course. Erm… what’s that?”

“You know how Dumbledore had a phoenix?” Elliot remarked calmly.  
“Of course.”  
“Well, in America, we’re less flamboyant. And we don’t really use owls… Sam is what the rude refer to as a ‘carrier pigeon’, though she’s really nothing of the sort…”  
“So what is she?” Lupin repeated.

Elliot released Sam, and an enormous bald eagle somehow left the pet carrier box and perched herself on the desk, cleaning her feathers while fixing Remus with a wary look.  
Lupin took a wary step back, and Elliot scratched Sam under her chin. “Fun fact; females are larger than males.”  
“Aren’t those endangered?” Lupin demanded.

Elliot shrugged. “The no-majes think so. But really, they’re about as endangered as owls. And Sam here can go a great deal farther, because she’s a whole lot bigger. Aren’t you, Sam?”  
Sam screeched, and Elliot cooed. “Yes you are, yes you are!”  
Lupin squinted incredulously at the scene in front of him. A lesser person, who had never seen Dumbledore come down to breakfast with only his beard to cover his nether regions (thanks to James and Sirius being idiots) would have been agog. Not a Marauder.

“So… Americans use bald eagles?” He finally asked. “As opposed to owls?”  
“Well, some still do use owls, but not _too_ much.” Elliot admitted. “Eagles are seen as more patriotic. Besides, you’re a Gryffindor.”  
“What’s that got to do with anything?”  
“The national animal of England is a lion.” Elliot pointed out. “We’re both patriotic in a way.”

“I suppose…” Lupin murmured, before reaching a finger towards Sam. “Hello girl…”  
Sam immediately tried to bite him.  
“Are you okay?” Elliot asked.  
“I’m fine.” Lupin clutched his hand to his chest, _reasonably_ certain it wasn’t bleeding. “Erm… I’ll go get Minerva.”

“Good idea.” Elliot agreed. “And sorry about that. Sam doesn’t really like strangers.”  
Lupin glared balefully at the eagle. Sam let out yet another ear-piercing shriek.  
“The feeling is mutual.” Lupin muttered, before bidding Elliot adieu and racing off to find Minerva.

“And tell her about Theodore Nott’s idea!” Elliot called as the door closed behind him.

Lupin quickly ran to McGonagall, afraid that Elliot’s terrifying familiar would chase him.  
Thus, McGonagall straightened her robes and her hat, checked her wand, and marched into the forest.  
The basilisk smelled Harry and Ginny on her, so thusly didn’t bother her.  
The acromantulas (that were left after the basilisk moved in) were terrified of the witch after a) retellings of tales by Aragog of how Minerva McGonagall had nearly killed him by mistake when taking tea with Hagrid, and b) the Great Noodle Incident of 1987, where the spiders swarmed the Quidditch pitch and McGonagall had acted before Dumbledore due to her love of the game and her students. Stories say she drove them back almost single-handedly.

Reports by the students then included witnessing Dumbledore attempting to ride acromantulas, and much better behavior in her class. Upon learning she had adopted Harry Potter, Charlie Weasley was then noted to have said, “Wonder if she’ll teach him that bit with the lightning, and the transfiguration thing she did?” (He is not noted to have explained anything to his foreign colleagues, nor the alumnis of Hogwarts working alongside him who were not there in 1987.)

Regardless, the other creatures of the Forbidden Forest were quick to note that when the basilisk and acromantulas stayed away from something, it was best to leave it be. In a record 35 minutes at a brisk walk, Minerva McGonagall reached Dumbledore’s cottage, and gave the door three sharp taps.

Grindelwald answered, enormous mustache donned once more (yet now askew). “Oh, halfblood witch. What do you want?”  
“To speak with Dumbledore.” McGonagall replied frostily.

“Is this about the American? I don’t like her. She was rude to Albus.” Grindelwald leaned against the door.  
“It’s about the finances of Hogwarts.” McGonagall replied.  
“Oh, that’s _boring.”_ Grindelwald sighed, before letting her into the cottage. Dumbledore was seated at a kitchen table, various cooking appliances behind him. A spiral staircase stood between him and the other two, and a door to McGonagall’s left was slightly ajar, revealing glances of a sitting room filled with Albus’ knick-knacks.

“Hello Albus.” McGonagall seated herself at the table.  
Dumbledore’s face burst into a grin. “Minerva, lovely to see you. Lemon drop?”  
“No, Albus.”  
“Chocolate frog?”

Grindelwald huffed, and sat down next to them. “Those cards are stupid, and inaccurate. You never defeated me.”  
Dumbledore chuckled. “Gellert, I know for a fact you kept that card.”  
“It was a nice picture of you.”

“Gellert, I live with you.”  
“Sometimes, I like to pull it out and ask it if it agrees you’re being unreasonable.”  
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “Yes… now, Albus, where is the finances ledger? Headmistress Stewart needs it to see if she can implement a decision to swell Hogwarts’ numbers, let alone for any other reason.”

“I hate her.” Grindelwald commented.  
“Headmistress Stewart doesn’t understand the needs of the greater good.” Dumbledore agreed solemnly.  
McGonagall narrowed her eyes. “Yes, Albus. I’m aware of your feelings on the matter. Now, the location of the ledger?”  
“What could she wish to implement?” Grindelwald asked.

“For one, she’ll fix up the school.” McGonagall snapped. “The Americans are quite eager to transfer their children over, which will bring in a lot more money and opportunities. And _she_ is doing something. What have _you_ accomplished recently?”  
“ _I_ found a horcrux.” Grindelwald huffed. “And I got a basilisk to destroy it via pictures drawn in the dirt.”  
“And you got the basilisk to destroy the other one as well.” Dumbledore added. “Minerva, would you like some tea while we chat?”

“No thank you, Albus. Now, the ledger?”  
“No, _that_ one was a fake.” Grindelwald pouted. “All I got was some note by someone named ‘RAB’. Probably dead. I certainly would have had him tortured to death for something like that.”  
“Dear me, how morbid.” Dumbledore mused. “I suppose we’ll never know, then.”

McGonagall cleared her throat pointedly. “The ledger? Where is it, Albus?”  
“I haven’t the foggiest idea.” Dumbledore replied cheerfully, before musing, “Gellert, where do you think that expression came from?”  
“England.” Grindelwald replied instantly. “Nowhere else is cursed with such weather, except other places _connected_ to England.”

“We’re in Scotland.” McGonagall remarked crisply.  
“Which is connected to England.” Grindelwald countered.  
“Yes. Now, Albus, where did you last see it?”

Dumbledore tapped his finger on his chin. “Hmm… oh, I think Gellert may have burned it in a fit of passion.”  
McGonagall glared at Grindelwald. “You did _what_?”  
“It was dull, and I was teasing Albus.” Grindelwald replied. “I didn’t think Albus would miss it.”  
“I rarely checked it, Minerva.” Dumbledore agreed. “Rest assured, Hogwarts’ finances are fine if it continues this way—why, I think the last time I checked it was in 1991, and nothing bad has happened.”  
McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you even pay Quirrell or Lockhart?”

“No, that’s the beauty of one of them being destroyed by the power of Lily Potter’s love.” Dumbledore chuckled merrily.  
McGonagall sighed. “Please tell me you intended to pay Remus.”  
“Well, originally, yes, but then I discovered that he was going to marry Sirius Black, who is of course, a recently exonerated millionaire.”

McGonagall sighed exasperatedly. “Thank you, Albus. It’s been a most enlightening visit.”  
“Please come back only when you are willing to let the scrawny martyr child be trained by me.” Grindelwald said. “Also show yourself out.”  
“Now, Gellert, that is _rude_ to Minerva.” Dumbledore chided.  
Grindelwald shrugged. “I don’t care. Don’t call, please. Out, out, out.”

  
McGonagall stood, drawing herself up to her full height and staring at Grindelwald. While the man was at least a foot taller than her, and was now standing at _his_ full height, she still tried to look down through her glasses at him, as though he was a wayward student. “Mr. Grindelwald, I do not tolerate any lack of manners that I am witness to. Due to my friendship with Albus, I was willing to put aside the worst aspects of your personality, but your tendency to collapse any relationships you have has destroyed Albus. You have destroyed his career, his prospects, his _life_. That is not what a good partner does. At least give the illusion that you care for him by not trying to destroy what little friendships he has left despite his association with you. Good day, Albus. I wish you luck on your work.”

“Goodbye, Minerva. Come back soon, I read an excellent recipe for roast in ‘Witch Weekly’ that I’d love to try.”  
“That would be wonderful, Albus. Please send me the details.” McGonagall replied stiffly, before leaving.  
Silence fell between the two men for a minute, before Grindelwald commented, “Albus, I love you, but you _cannot_ cook to save your life.”  
Dumbledore sighed. “Now, Gellert, I’m improving vastly.”  
Grindelwald conceded this point. “To be fair, your first attempt had me pointing a wand at you demanding to know why you were attempting to poison me _now_.”

Dumbledore shrugged. “I think you were overreacting. And… you’re oddly paranoid, Gellert. Did you know that?”  
Gellert let out an annoyed exhale. “When you are a Dark Lord, you are paranoid. Hence the unfortunate death of RAB in front of all the other Death Eaters in a particularly gruesome manner so that they don’t follow him.”  
“I thought you said he was tortured to death?” Dumbledore asked pointedly.

“I never said Riddle didn’t give him an audience. Bellatrix Black probably found it sexually stimulating.”  
“Black… Black… hmm… Gellert?”  
“Hmm?”  
“All the Blacks kept with the idea of blood purity, didn’t they?”

“Well, not the one shagging a half-blood werewolf, but yes. Rather like the Rellers, now that I think of it, until I killed Noah Reller. The family seems very anti-fanatic now.”  
“Gellert, I believe I’ll need to talk to Remus quite soon. Or better yet, Sirius.”  
“Seriously?” Grindelwald inquired.  
Dumbledore shot him a sour look, and Grindelwald sighed. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't think the Americans wouldn't have bald eagles flying around, you are kidding yourself. 
> 
> Also, I know that J.K. Rowling's strong suit isn't math. I respect that. But I'm still going to use the numbers she gave, and thusly, prepare for 700 American transfer students. *draws strength from the 2000s fanfics*. Essentially, since 1/20000 people are wizards, and America has ONE good school (one of the eleven) that it shares with Canada and Mexico, and a much higher population than Britain, it's going to have either a LOT of room at Ilvermorny, or a LOTTT of overcrowding. Subsequently, there would be a LOT of students being sent to Hogwarts, especially at the moment it appears to be functioning at about a quarter of its capacity. 
> 
> No-majes; the American word for Muggles.


	26. In Which Luna Lovegood Kills Voldemort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I was originally like, "ooh we should get some character development with Cedric before fourth year" but now I'm less inclined to kill him. I like him now. 
> 
> Also, Elliot purposefully calls her students by their first names. (She has a cheat sheet shhh.) That's what they do in Ilvermorny.

“So, Professor Stewart said you needed _me_ to help you?” Hermione repeated.   
Theodore nodded. “Exactly. To stop it from being biased.”   
“It _will_ be biased unless you have a legitimate voice of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff included.” Hermione huffed. “And it is far too late to put on a play _now_.”   
“I was hoping it could be put on next year.” Theodore pointed out. “Please?”

“Gryffindor said there might be a portrait of the two in the ‘Come-and-Go’ room, whatever that is.” Harry said over his cereal.   
Theodore sat down at the table with them. “Where is that?”   
“It’s not in ‘Hogwarts: A History’.” Hermione pointed out.

“It’s not on any map of Hogwarts, either.” Fred commented from further down the table.   
Theodore drummed his fingers on the table. “Professor Stewart could draw us a map.”   
“Why don’t you just ask the elves?” Someone interrupted.

Everyone turned to see a blonde girl standing behind Theodore. She gracefully sat next to him. “Luna Lovegood. Why don’t you ask the elves?”   
“Why the elves?” Harry asked curiously.   
Luna shrugged. “They’ve been here longer than anyone, haven’t they? And they’d know all the secrets of the castle… my father recently published an article on the magic of house-elves.”

“Your father runs the ‘Daily Prophet’?” Theodore asked in surprise.   
Luna smiled. “Of course not. He is the editor of the ‘Quibbler’. The ‘Daily Prophet’ is only interested in pushing Minister Fudge’s propaganda. I read it once, and found myself making a symbol of the ‘evil eye’ every day at 6:13pm for a week afterwards.”

Most of the Gryffindors at this point found her weird. Some thought it was because she was sitting next to Theodore Nott. Those ones then proceeded to slide away from him as much as they could. The House system had broken down a bit, now their table was awash with Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws –and dare they say it—Slytherins. What was next, the disbanding of a competitive situation that viewed children as furthering the interests of the ‘house’, and didn’t allow them to live their own lives for fear of their housemates’ retribution when they incurred a large loss of points and thusly lost the House Cup? Ridiculous.

“Really? Was that the article regarding the vampires?” Theodore asked.   
“No, it talked about Minister Fudge’s plans to campaign once more.” Luna replied.   
“ _Fascinating_. Of course, we should conduct further experiments on the matter to see what the true cause was—it could have been the author, after all.”   
“Too true.” Luna agreed.

Harry stared at them. “Hermione? Why is there someone else like Theodore?”   
“I don’t… know…” Hermione admitted. “Perhaps for balance? Now, are you finished?”   
“Excuse me?” Harry blinked in surprise.   
“I’m hardly going to undertake an adventure without you.” Theodore agreed. “You are a magnet for this sort of thing. Now come along, we’re off to the kitchens.”

“Ron?” Harry asked.   
“I’m not spending my Saturday with the most… _Slytherin_ of the Slytherins.” Ron huffed.   
“I’m a Ravenclaw.” Luna pointed out.   
Ron stared at her. “Then what the bloody hell are you doing acting like _him_ for? You can make something of yourself!”   
“What did he mean by that?” Harry asked.   
Everyone else shrugged.

“Bye, Ron.” Hermione gave him a quick kiss on top of his head.   
“Agh, ‘Mione, not in front of everyone else.”   
“Ron, it was a rather chaste kiss. Dean and Seamus snog all the time, so do Lavender and Parvati.”

Ron shrugged, blushing.   
“Not getting involved.” Harry declared. “Theodore, new-yet-female-and-Ravenclaw-and-blonde Theodore, Hermione, let’s go find the elves.”   
“My name is _Luna_.” Said female, Ravenclaw blonde reminded him firmly.

“Right, sorry about that.” Harry agreed.   
Thusly, they all set off in search of the house-elves. Upon finding them (and Hermione becoming gradually more incensed the more they spoke to them) they set off for the seventh floor.   
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked Hermione.   
“They’re _sentient_.” Hermione growled.

“I thought you knew, Granger. They’re, as you pointed out, replacements.” Theodore pointed out.   
Hermione glared at Theodore. “Replacements for slaves that are still slaves.”   
“Oh dear. Let’s talk about this later…” Harry began.   
“I will not allow this to be swept under the rug, Harry James Potter!” Hermione seethed. “It’s _deplorable_ , and I shall be making a full complaint to Professor Stewart!”

“House-elves are happy like this.” Theodore pointed out.   
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “I bet slavery apologists said the same thing, Theodore Nott.”   
“My middle name is ‘Timothy’, if you care to call me out like Harry.” Theodore replied.   
“That is an absurdly normal name for someone whose best friend is named ‘Draco Malfoy’.” Harry pointed out.

“Generally, we have normal names.” Theodore pointed out. “Oh, hello, Daphne.”   
Harry turned to see Daphne Greengrass blushing and giggling with a chubby Asian girl.   
“Hello, Sue!” Luna added happily.   
Daphne’s mask dropped again. “What are you lot doing here?”

Sue nudged her and said something Harry didn’t understand. It took him a minute to realize she wasn’t speaking Standard English.   
“We’re off to find a portrait of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.” Luna replied.   
Sue said something else indistinguishable.

“ _One_ Ravenclaw, a Slytherin, and two Gryffindors?” Daphne added, raising an eyebrow. “Good luck.”   
“You’re welcome to join us.” Harry said.   
Sue immediately turned to Daphne, eyes wide, before babbling in that language again.   
Daphne sighed. “ _Fine_.”

They proceeded again, before running into Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang.   
“Unfortunate that we’re missing Draco.” Theodore mused. “Having all four seekers in one place would be interesting, especially if it hadn’t been decided upon prior to the event.”   
“Don’t summon him!” Daphne hissed, clutching at Sue’s arm.

“Where are you all off to?” Cedric asked.   
Sue replied, and Cedric instinctively looked at Cho.   
“I don’t speak Cockney, just like you don’t!” Cho huffed in her thick Scottish accent. “Honestly Ced, just because we’re both Ravenclaws doesn’t mean I speak all English dialects!”

“Like your accent is much better.” Daphne huffed. “I can barely make out what you’re saying over your highland brogue!”   
Cedric’s eyes narrowed along with Cho’s, and both Cedric and Daphne stepped forward, only to be tugged back by their Ravenclaw girlfriends.   
Sue murmured something to Daphne in what Harry now realized was a Cockney accent, and Cho hugged Cedric close.

“Anyway, we are off to find a portrait of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.” Harry said.   
“Without a Hufflepuff?” Cho raised an eyebrow.   
“May we come along?” Cedric added.

“Sure. You actually asked.” Harry replied. “That’s more than everyone else did.”   
Cedric laughed. “Ah, well, never leave it up to a Hufflepuff to _find_ a way to be polite, eh?”   
Cho elbowed him gently, though she was smiling. “Stop the ‘find’ jokes, Ced.”   
“I _find_ them to be hilarious.” Cedric leaned down and kissed her.

“I’m getting perfect couple envy.” Hermione noted.   
“So am I.” Harry replied. “Watch Nott say something super wise and beyond our years as he doesn’t feel the mortal feeling of ‘jealousy’.”   
“Envy and jealousy are different things.” Luna told him.   
“Don’t start.” Harry groaned.

The group eventually got over it, and proceeded to the Seventh Corridor without further interference.   
“So where is the room?” Daphne asked.   
Theodore stared intently at the wall. “Curious…”   
“Legend says you have to say your purpose three times in front of it.” Cedric pointed out.

“How do you know?” Luna asked curiously.   
“I’m a Hufflepuff. If anyone could _find_ it—” Cho groaned, cutting him off. “You _berk_ , stop with the joke!”   
Cedric laughed, and pulled her close. “It’s ancient Hufflepuff lore.”   
“Ah. All we got was a giant, mad snake.” Theodore noted.   
“Oi! Leave Sir Hiss out of it!” Harry ordered.

The Ravenclaws, however, each thought of the purpose of their visit. This counted as three, and a door appeared. Hermione was aghast. “I’ll have to write everything down to write to Bathilda Bagshot… if I hurry, I can still make the launch of the next edition…”   
The room was absolutely covered with portraits of Rowena Ravenclaw, and scattered Ravenclaw artifacts.

“Why were Hufflepuff and Slytherin so weirdly obsessed?” Theodore mused. This garnered glares from Cedric and Daphne.   
Rowena Ravenclaw snapped something at them in Scottish Gaelic. Cedric cast a translation spell on her portrait featuring Helga.

“Would you two like to return to the outside world?” Harry asked.   
“Of course!” Helga said.   
Rowena sighed. “Don’t forget the diadem. Just don’t.”   
“Your lost diadem?” Luna asked.

Hermione immediately perked up.   
Rowena looked pained. “It wasn’t… exactly… lost.”   
Helga rubbed her back. “Shh, it’s over and done with now. The diadem made its way back to Hogwarts, didn’t it?”   
“It came back _cursed_.” Rowena spat. “And it never would have been gone if I hadn’t… I wish Helena had been more like you.”

“Sweet.” Helga cooed. “But Helena was the best and the worst of both of us. With a dash of Salazar’s pride thrown in.”   
Rowena gave a strangled laugh. “I suppose she was. Perhaps you should have carried her with Godric’s seed instead.”   
“This is getting weird.” Harry noted.

Luna wandered off to look for the cursed diadem.   
“Salazar and Godric’s portrait is hanging in the Headmistress’s office. By the way, Granger and I are writing a play about all of you.” Theodore said.   
“I’m here to help make sure there isn’t Pureblood bias.”   
“Granger, I am the son of a halfblood.” Theodore sighed.

Daphne stared. “No, you’re not! Patroclus Nott is as pure as they come!”   
“Patroclus isn’t my father.” Theodore sighed. “You-Know-Who is.”   
Everyone stared at him, except for Harry, who leaned close to the portraits. “You-Know-Who is Voldemort, a genocidal maniac who rans about killing Muggleborns and the like a few years ago. He is also the Heir of Slytherin, but the Headmistress might fight him about that. Quite nasty business, really.”

“You’re the son of Voldemort?!” Hermione demanded. Both she and Daphne had their wands pressed to Theodore’s throat. The rest made no move to stop them.   
“Harry…?” Theodore asked.   
“I, too, was afraid of Theodore murdering us all in our sleep when I found out he was the literal son of Satan. But Theodore has managed not to even murder small animals, so I’m pretty sure we’re good. Besides, if Voldemort came back to power, he’d murder Theodore for being a potential rival for power. Don’t do his work for him.”

“That was a logically constructed argument. I’m proud of you, Harry.” Hermione said.   
“It wasn’t that good.” Ravenclaw pointed out.   
“It’s good for Harry.” Hermione amended.   
Harry rolled his eyes in disbelief. “ _Rude_.”

“Sue and I are the sanest people here.” Daphne huffed, gesturing to Cedric and Cho who were now snogging furiously.   
“You can understand her Cockney accent?” Hermione asked, quirking an eyebrow.   
Daphne flushed and looked elsewhere. “Of course I can. Why wouldn’t I?”   
Sue smirked and said something in her Cockney dialect.

“I love you too.” Daphne said.   
Sue burst out laughing. “Right, that’s it. Daphne, just admit you can’t understand me when I speak Cockney.”   
“I can understand you!” Daphne huffed, still flushed.

Sue smirked, before giving Daphne a chaste kiss. “Love, you never like to lose, but face it.”   
“I haven’t lost.” Daphne growled vehemently, before kissing Sue back.   
Sue laughed.   
“What separates the Slytherins from the Ravenclaws is that it seems they’re more open sexually.” Theodore noted.

“Don’t Slytherins make a _lot_ of advances?” Harry asked.    
Theodore rubbed his glasses on his robes. “That is a statistical error. The average Slytherin makes 1.5 sexual advances per year. Blaise Zabini, who lives in a cave and makes over 10,000 per year, is an outlier and should not have been counted.”   
“That sounds as if you were quoting something.” Hermione pointed out suspiciously as Luna returned with something wrapped in a cloth.

“What’s that?” Theodore asked, derailing the previous conversation.   
“It’s the lost diadem of Ravenclaw.” Luna replied, moving some of the cloth so as to show them.   
“How did you find that?” Cho asked, her accent getting thicker in her excitement.   
“I walked around, looking.” Luna replied.

“May I hold it?” Sue asked.   
“If you don’t remove the cloth.” Luna replied. “Something feels _wrong_ about it.”  
“That boy.” Rowena growled. “That evil boy warped and twisted it and made my hard work evil and _disgusting_. The girl is right—don’t touch it. It needs to be destroyed.”

Cho and Sue gasped.   
“How can you say that?” Cho asked. “The diadem has been a symbol of Ravenclaw for years! We can’t just _destroy_ it! How would we do it, anyway?”   
“Avada Kedavra should do it.” Helga mused. “Seeing as what it’s got in it.”   
Rowena sighed. “Can I ask one of these children to destroy themselves along with such evil?”

“Now, ‘Wena, be pragmatic.” Helga sighed as well. “They’re hardly going to fall to the floor wailing. I agree that the oldest one should do it, but it’s really not such a big deal.”   
“Tis the taint of _my_ object, I should think it would be up to _my_ heir to destroy what Salazar’s blood has wrought.”   
“Rowena, you’re being dramatic again. Besides, _you_ didn’t want to carry another child after Helena, remember?”  

Rowena sighed. “I remember. But would that I had, I could have had an heir to smite that wicked boy, and our false daughter!”   
Helga gave her a kiss. “Yes, but you didn’t. What’s done is done, dear, and we cannot change that. Eldest one, would you please take the Diadem and kill the evil within?”

“Um, sure…” Cedric took the diadem from Sue and set it down, then stepped back a few paces. “Avada Kedavra?”   
“A mark of being in Slytherin, no doubt.” Rowena mused. “Salazar had rather a lot of performance anxiety the night Helena was conceived.”   
Daphne and Theodore glared at her, as did Cedric and Cho.

“I’m a Hufflepuff.” Cedric said coldly.   
“Cedric has _never_ had performance anxiety where it counts.” Cho added, scowling.   
Cedric turned scarlet. “ _Cho!_ ”   
“I learned more about the Ravenclaws’ sex-lifes than I would ever care to.” Harry commented. “Can someone just kill the diadem?”

“Cedric, I think part of Voldemort is in there.” Theodore pointed out quietly. “Grindelwald told us about how he and Dumbledore were looking for objects like that.”   
“No he didn’t.” Daphne scowled.   
“You weren’t there—he was in the process of kidnapping Draco from our dormitory.”

“And Slytherins call _us_ weird.” Luna noted.   
Cedric faced the diadem again. Sensing that he was about to kill it, it began rattling, and a dark cloud rose from the jewel. “Cedric Diggory… the golden boy… you’ll be so disappointing to all of them, you know. Your parents, who wanted you to be able to have that nice Ministry job… I bet they’ll be disgusted that you couldn’t even get an interview without your father’s help. And poor, poor Cho… Ravenclaws rather value intelligence, don’t they? Don’t you think she’s realized that you were held back a year? Imagine how disgusted she must be to be seen with an _idiot_ for a soulmate. And in the end, will it have all been worth it, or will you die a _spare?_ ”

“How dare you?!” Cho demanded.   
The cloud turned to her. “Oh dear. Does he even know what an emotional wreckage you are, what you would be without him? Why would a weak crybaby and an idiot be able to dissuade _me_? I could go on, there’s more if I check, there’s more things on this list than chins on your neck. You’d probably start crying the minute you came down for breakfast in the morning. Any children you had would be sobbing in their incontinence.”   
“Did you mean _incompetence_?” Cho asked.

“I know what I said!” The Volde-cloud hissed.   
“So that just describes a baby then.” Harry pointed out.   
The cloud turned to him next, chuckling. “Oh, _you_. Little Harry Potter, who did _nothing_ to deserve the fame. After all, you’re just a little freak, aren’t you? Freakish Potter, who had to be kept under a staircase to keep him away from _normal_ people. The irony is, for all of your fame and glory, you aren’t special. You’re just an ungrateful little brat taken in by his aunt that no one loves and no one cares about. You’re just a blot on the family name, and soon, everyone’s going to realize that Harry James Potter is nothing but a fraud. That you are _nothing_ at all.”

“I’m not!” Harry yelled. “It wasn’t right for them to do that!”   
“Are you _sure_? Are you sure your parents wouldn’t do the same? They’d hardly treat you like Dudley was by _his_ parents, and the Dursleys  _loved_ their son. Didn’t the Potters love you? Didn’t they realize? If they loved you, why did they trust Pettigrew? Why did they go to Godric’s Hollow? Why didn’t they take you to America, or France, or someplace Voldemort couldn’t get you? _Why didn’t your parents survive_ , _Harry_?”

“Leave him alone!” Hermione yelled.   
“Oh, the little Mudblood. It will never be enough, you know. You’ll never be one of them. You’ll never be the _best_. And that temper, oh my. You nearly drove poor, dear Ron away, and then what? You’d be a witch who had destroyed her soulmate. That’s unnatural, you know. Everyone else knows it too. So you’d be an unnatural little Mudblood with your filthy Muggle parents, who had driven away your ‘one twue wuv’. Which, you know, _would_ be tragic, seeing as he’s the only one you could ever have, being a repugnant little bucktoothed _thing_. Who _would_ want you? You’re not pretty. You’re far too smart, and insanely bossy. You’re not feminine like Astoria, and you’re not fit like Ginny. You’re just _Hermione_.”

“Leave her alone.” Daphne spat.   
“You can’t protect everyone. Least of all, your sister. You’re not that smart, you’re not that cunning, and you’re a failure as a Slytherin in general. All you are is overprotective, but even that is impotent. You’re like a dog chained to a stake that barks at an intruder—you won’t stop him. And I suppose that metaphor is particularly fitting, you’re a bitch, after all.”   
“ _Stop_.” Sue growled.

“Oh, shush. You know full well what your mother would say if she found out you had a _crush_ —that’s all it is, after all, no matter what Daphne feels—on a _girl_. And an asexual girl at that. Oh, she didn’t tell you? I suppose you two weren’t really that close. So, you’re ostracizing your mother for a crush on a girl who doesn’t even tell you that she isn’t ever interested in rubbing against you like Diggory and Chang were a few moments ago. Oh, you thought it would come with time? Naïve, aren’t you?”

“This has gone far enough.” Theodore snapped.   
The Volde-cloud turned to him, then began laughing. “Oh, this is _rich_. My little bastard, all grown up. You look like your filthy Muggle grandfather, did you know? I mean, so do I, but you have none of my pureblood bearing, despite being in Slytherin. Your peers think you’re as odd as a Ravenclaw. And you’re not Patroclus’ son, why would he leave you his money? You’ll be left penniless on the streets, and you just _know_ Pansy will follow you there out of some misguided sense of loyalty. And thus, you’ll get a front-row seat to watching her slowly come to hate you for taking her from her life of wealth and planting her in a garden of poverty.”

“I think that’s quite enough now.” Luna said firmly.   
Volde-cloud turned to her. “Your mother died, and it was sad.”   
“Yes.”   
“You… caused it…? Why did you survive, when she didn’t?”   
“Because she was protecting me, like Harry’s parents were protecting him. How can you talk and look into our minds?”

“None of your business!” Volde-cloud snarled.   
“Oh. Well, stop bullying my friends.”   
“They’re not your friends, you don’t have friends! No one likes you!”   
“I’m not going to talk with you if you’re rude.” Luna replied.   
The cloud gave a howl of rage. “Stop deflecting me! You’re a twelve year old Ravenclaw, I’m the _Dark Lord_! I’m invincible!”   
“You’re a loony.” Luna retorted, before waving her wand. “ _Avada Kedavra_!”   

Volde-cloud shrieked before dying.   
Everyone stared at her, while a Klaxon alarm began ringing.   
“Harry, don’t take this personally, but I feel that we have a new savior of the Wizarding World.” Theodore said slowly.   
“That’s honestly excellent.” Harry replied. “Now, who wants to never talk about their personal traumas again?” He and Theodore immediately raised their hands.

“That girl is one of mine.” Ravenclaw said, satisfied. The other portraits of her nodded their approval.   
Cedric and Cho picked up the portrait with both of them, and Luna the diadem.   
“Ced, you know that year you were held back doesn’t mean anything to me.” Cho said softly, though they still heard her over the siren.

“I know. It’s just… well, part of me is scared irrationally. You’re beautiful, smart, witty, you can fly circles around me, why would you want _me_?”   
“Because you’re charming, and principled, and sweet, and kind, and quite handsome yourself.” Cho smiled. “And me, I break down in tears whenever someone yells at me. I’m a crybaby.”   
“You’re not half.” Cedric huffed. “The world is a little scary at times, and it’s okay to take it one step at a time.”

“Stop being so bloody perfect, the rest of us are traumatized!” Daphne growled, her hand grasping Sue’s tightly.   
“Daphne, I…” Sue trailed off, sighing. “I’m sorry.”  
“For what?” Daphne asked.

“I’m sorry I’m not in love with you the way you’re in love with me.”   
“Oh, Sue, it’s alright. Even if I’m just a crush, we can grow from there.” Daphne swallowed. “And I didn’t tell you I’m asexual because I didn’t think it was relevant yet. We’re not… we’re not there yet, in our relationship, where I was going to tell you. But we can be. We can be like them.” Daphne pointed at Cedric and Cho, who were now snogging once again.

“But do you _really_ want to?” Harry asked, stepping over the portrait of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.   
“And that bit about your mother, I _will_ protect you from anything she says.” Daphne said solemnly.   
Sue smiled. “I know you will.”

“This is all so sweet… I am the son of Lord Voldemort after he forced himself upon my mother and Harry suffered through an abusive childhood, and Granger has some sort of inferiority complex, so how can we fix ourselves with some sort of intense cuddling session?” Theodore asked.   
“You could try talking out your problems with someone you trust, like your soulmate.” Cedric said. He and Cho picked up the portrait as Elliot raced around the corner.

“Who cast the Unforgivable in my castle?!” She demanded, abruptly turning off the alarm.   
“I did.” Luna said. “I killed Voldemort. Good job, me.”   
“Good job, Luna.” Harry agreed.

“What is she talking about?” Elliot demanded.   
Bit by bit, the story came out.   
“So Ravenclaw house gets the diadem back, and the Grey Lady can pass on.” Luna finished. “And when _she_ goes, the Bloody Baron will go, so you’ll want to hold auditions for new ghosts soon. Particularly since Myrtle disappeared.”

“Wait, I want to talk to Helena before she goes.” Rowena spoke up.   
“As do I. I failed her as much as you did, ‘Wena.” Helga added solemnly.   
“Oh, Helga, don’t say that.”   
“Please save us from the sentimentality of the Ravenclaws.” Theodore begged. “They’re very focused on working through their issues, and having loving caring partnerships. Well, I don’t exactly mind those things, but they do them in _public_ no less.”

“Theodore, I think we need to have a chat. Luna, good job with the diadem. Please go get the Grey Lady. Cedric, Cho, follow me, we’ll find a place for these two that both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor can agree on… might as well move Gryffindor and Slytherin out of my office. After all, Mr. Potter, I doubt Gryffindor proved a satisfactory spy?”   
“How did you know that?” Harry demanded.

“Because you’re thirteen years old, and I am an adult and not an idiot.” Elliot replied, raising an eyebrow. “Now, Greengrass, Li, scoot. The password to my office is ‘wendigo’. You three, stay here.”   
Everyone else filed away, leaving Elliot, Theodore, and the Gryffindors. (Cedric and Cho were, once again, ensconced in a corner exploring each other’s mouths. Elliot was very pointedly ignoring their wandering hands, and turned Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff around.)

“My cousin was truly in the school?” Elliot asked.   
“He was sort of in the diadem?” Harry said.   
“It was traumatizing.” Theodore deadpanned. “Also, I’m kind of scared of Luna Lovegood right now.”   
“We all are.” Hermione agreed.

“But no one other than my cousin was hurt by Lovegood?” Elliot asked sharply, before peering into each of their eyes.   
“No.” They answered honestly.   
Elliot’s mouth was a thin line, but she gave a nod. “Listen to me you three—unless a Dark Lord is involved, none of you are allowed to use Unforgivables. Is that clear?”   
They nodded.

“Why did you single us out for that?” Harry demanded.   
“Because you’re the most trouble.” Elliot huffed. “Don’t try to deny it, you all get into _far_ more trouble than the other students.”   
“Fair enough.” Theodore sighed. “Come on, Granger. Let’s go gather research for the play.”

“Following Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw’s reunion with their daughter.” Hermione huffed.   
“Yes.” Theodore agreed.   
“I’m going to go finish my breakfast.” Harry said. “Bye, everyone.”   
“Bye, Harry. Hey, Cedric, Cho! I turned a blind eye earlier, but hands where I can see them!” Elliot snapped.


	27. The Author Gets bored and decides to time skip, because I can do that.

Helena Ravenclaw floated hesitantly on the staircase. “Mother?”  
“Helena?” Rowena breathed.  
Helga Hufflepuff sat down upon a chair she’d drawn in. “Helena, come here, darling. Honestly, one of you with the weeping and the wailing is enough.”

Helena cracked a small smile. “I had thought all portraits of you were destroyed…”  
“Well, Slytherin and Hufflepuff had a thing about hoarding.” Theodore muttered.  
Harry kicked him gently. “It was funny the first time.”  
“Mother, can you ever forgive me for my transgressions against you?” Helena begged.

“I mean, the diadem is back, so I bloody well hope so.” Hermione huffed as Daphne and Sue came around the corner.  
“Helena, it’s all in the past. Would that I had not raised you in the wake of my renown, for how can a seed grow in the shadow of a mighty tree?” Rowena asked gently.  
“Hogwash.” Slytherin huffed.

“Hello Helga, Rowena. Oh, hello, Helena. I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl.” Gryffindor smiled.  
Helena curtsied. “Do not fear, Sir Gryffindor. I shall meet you all again in the afterlife.”  
“…are you _sure_ you wanted Salazar to give you his seed and create a child, Rowena?” Godric asked.  
“What’s done is done, and I would not trade Helena for all the jewels of Araby.” Rowena proclaimed.

“And they say I’m dramatic.” Slytherin muttered.  
“Well, I feel like a third wheel.” Harry noted. “And I have still not finished my breakfast, due to the fortuitous timing of Luna and this, the fairest of ladies.”  
Helena giggled, and Theodore narrowed his eyes in thought. “I wonder who would win if Ginny Weasley fought a ghost…?”  
“Harry, come away from the Slytherins. They’re rubbing off on you.” Hermione planted her hands on each of Harry’s shoulders and forcibly moved him to the left.

“So, now that you have all had some closure, my cousin’s horcrux is gone, and—” Elliot was abruptly cut off by a new voice.  
“Helena, wouldst thou reject me from taking thy hand and walking into the afterlife with you?” The Bloody Baron appeared on the staircase as well. Harry thought this was odd—he didn’t _need_ staircases.  
“Could you please use modern English?” Cedric asked.  
“Certainly, my young lad. Helena, I ask of you, answer me swiftly and honestly. Have I not spent the last millennia in your wake, begging for forgiveness?”

“What’d he do?” Slytherin asked.  
“I am _vaguely_ certain that he killed her.” Gryffindor replied.  
“You _murdered_ me!” Helena growled.  
“He did indeed.” Helga tutted.   
"I should get money." Gryffindor mused. 

The Bloody Baron hung his head. “Alas, I was… Helena, my dearest love, we were meant to be two halves of the same heart. Why didst thou reject me?”  
Cedric cleared his throat, and the Baron shrugged sheepishly.  
“Did someone _say..._  Draco Malfoy?” Said boy appeared as well. Daphne froze, her eyes flickering between the ghosts and the boy so pale as to be one.

“Bad timing.” Harry said. “But good to see you.”  
“I _rejected_ you because you would not let alone and let me live my life!” Helena growled. “I did not _want_ you Arlys! But you kept pushing and pushing and you wouldn’t just… I might have loved you if you had allowed me time to come to that conclusion myself!”  
“My dearest lady…” The Baron began.

“No! No, I will not be your dearest lady any longer! I am going to pass _on_ , Arlys. I will reunite with my mother and my mama. The diadem has been found and purged. There is nothing more for me here.”  
“Then I ask to come with you, hand in hand.”  
“ _No_ , Arlys. Even if we are reborn and die a thousand times, I will _never_ forgive you.”

“Helena, _please_.” The Baron begged. “I regretted hurting you the minute the first blow struck. Your blood has been on my hands for a thousand years!” He shoved his hands in her face. True to his word, they were coated with a dark, silvery liquid.  
“Perhaps you should have realized that I could never love you when your pursuit of me turned so violent.” Helena snarled. “How dare you defile any respect I had for you by being not only an instrument of my mother’s will, far too weak to form your own opinions, but to also force me in such a way? You’re a monster.”

“Your mother was dying, Helena! What would you have had me do?!”  
“I would have preferred being left alone above all else, but in that case, I would have preferred hearing your suit from another floor! Not _murdered_ , you cretin! What sort of true love are you, that kills and forces me when I will not go with him? When I will not love him the way he wishes? Return to hell, you ass. I have no use for you.” Helena spat.

Daphne took a step forward. “That’s not happening to my sister, Malfoy.”  
“What?” Draco asked.  
“What?” Helena and Arlys repeated in unison.  
“What?” Sue added.  
“Colonel Mustard, with the lead pipe, in the library.” Harry finished.

“Why would I _kill_ Astoria?” Draco asked, ignoring Harry.  
“Wha… you can’t deny the parallels here!” Daphne gestured to the ghosts, who were now looking awkward.  
“Astoria will love me before that ever happens.” Draco replied confidently.  
“No, I’ll push you down the stairs before that ever happens.” Daphne vowed. “I bet _he_ thought he’d get her to love him too. But he kept pushing and pushing and pushing, just like you. And if you try to hurt my sister, _I_ will do the pushing.”

“It won’t stop him.” Helena sighed. “I had a sister as well, born of my mama and Gryffindor’s seed. Primrose, Mama called her. Prudence, Mother named her. My sister would have avenged me, truly, had Arlys’ deed come to light prior to his death. But she was rendered impotent in this matter, and I urged her to move on and forget the woeful tale of her lost sister. I watch over her descandants when they come to Hogwarts, but despite their Gryffindorish beginnings, they are all uniformly Hufflepuffs, and all uniformly uninterested in the ghost of Ravenclaw.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make sure he never gets my sister alone.” Daphne replied primly.  
“What about the Malfoy heirs?” Theodore asked.  
Daphne scowled. “That would imply my sister had married him, which implies she would do so willingly. A forced rutting may beget children, but they would be bastards and unable to attain his title.”

“Why is the Wizarding World weirdly fixated on marriage?” Harry whispered to Hermione.  
“Because they still bequeath large amounts of land to their heirs, which need to be their _legal_ heirs.”  
“Marriage doesn’t need to be _willing_.” Theodore snorted.  
“If I find that you helped him in a plot to carry off my sister and forcibly marry her to him, I _will_ remove _your_ ability to have children. Is that clear?” Daphne smiled scarily at Theodore.

Theodore swallowed. “Crystal. But won’t Pansy be angry?”  
“Pansy can satisfy herself other ways.”  
“You’re all thirteen.” Elliot huffed. “Now, get on with it. If you’re going to pass on, I’d rather witness it than screen ghosts only to have you pop up later.”  
“Well, I _never_!” Helena huffed, before vanishing slowly.

“And you?” Elliot demanded of the Baron.  
“She doesn’t want me, even now.” He sighed.  
“Something tells me that never stopped you before.” Elliot remarked drily. “ _Go_. I don’t want murderers and distressed idiots around children that I am responsible for, especially when you’re apparently already setting a bad example.”

The Baron blinked for a moment, before drawing his face into a cruel sneer. “You know _nothing_ about Helena and I. Our love is as deep and complex as the oceans.”  
“If you’re going to the sea, she’s going to the moon.” Elliot deadpanned. “Now, there has been _enough_ excitement for one day. _Go_.”  
“And where’s your soulmate?” The Baron asked. “Dead? Or did they run off too? You never thought about pursuing them? You’re no better than me.”  
“You don’t know what happened between us.” Elliot snarled. “And he _did_ love me, once, and we both agreed it was for the best after Priscilla died and we could not bear to look at each other anymore!”

Everyone stared at her, and she sighed, brushing her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry you all had to hear that. Baron, pass on. Don’t mention how you can keep Peeves in line, I don’t _care_ anymore. I just want to return to my office and my paperwork. Cedric, Cho, you two are in charge of hanging up the founders. Godric Gryffindor will tell the Gryffindors if you get distracted by each other.”  
The Baron got the message and passed on as well.  
“Or if you turn us around.” Ravenclaw huffed.

“But we have practice later today.” Cedric protested.  
“So do we.” Cho bit her lip nervously.  
“Then I would ask you to finish quickly,” Elliot replied.  “And to not get distracted.”  
“But—” Cedric began to protest.  
Elliot turned on her heel. “I need to go. I have a lot of work to do.”

She quickly retreated.  
“Ten galleons she’s going to cry over this Priscilla’s death.” Theodore remarked coolly.  
“You’re a heartless person, you know that?” Harry asked. “And I’m not going to take that bet. Maybe there’s still breakfast left. Luna, would you like to join me?”

Luna took his arm. “As friends?”  
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry, but my type is more… redheaded.”  
“I understand. I’m not interested in having Ginny be angry with me.”

“So…anyone want to tell _me_ what’s going on?” Draco asked.  
“No.” Theodore said.  
“Go bugger an acromantula and let ‘Storia alone.” Daphne growled.  
Cedric and Cho were busy.

Sue raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  
“Oh, you’re all leaving this up to me? _Fine_.” Hermione huffed. “Come on, Malfoy.”  
“You are not permitted to touch!” Draco yelped as she tried to take him by the elbow.  
“Why? Because I’m a filthy—”

“Ew, no, Granger. I’m reformed. Because I _just_ fixed my hair and I don’t want any air, sudden movement, _anything_ to ruin it.” Draco huffed. “We may walk and we may talk, but _don’t touch_.”  
Daphne snorted, but Sue tugged her away. “Let’s go walk by the lake, it’s nice out.”

“At least it’s not the Quidditch field.” Daphne mumbled.  
“That reminds me, I have Quidditch practice later…” Draco noted.  
“Does everyone have bloody Quidditch practice!?” Daphne demanded as Sue pulled her down the corridor.

That day marked a few things; the end of Helena Ravenclaw and Baron Arlys Smythe as House ghosts, the beginning of the founders passing opinions onto the children of Hogwarts once more, and the beginning of the process of writing the play.

“I can’t believe it’s the end of the school year.” Harry noted as they all clapped for Hufflepuff for winning the House Cup. “Feels like just a few hours ago, Luna killed part of Voldemort.”  
“I know. I honestly can’t remember what happened after I told you all to go on the magical mystical adventure without me.” Ron mused. “Oh, well. Coming over for the Quidditch World Cup? Dad managed to get tickets.”

“He did? That’s amazing, Ron!” Harry breathed. “And yeah, I’d love to go, but McGonagall’s going to want to come too.”  
“Of course she is.” Hermione agreed. “That’s why Ron’s father got her a ticket, didn’t he, Ron?”  
Ron nodded. “Of course he did. No one knows McGonagall better than Mum and Dad. And Dumbledore. And Sirius Black. And Professor Lupin. Where was I going with this? Never mind—point is, Dad got both you and McGonagall tickets to the World Cup, and if you’re not coming, they’re going to the Drs. Granger.”

“Well, with an offer like that, I can’t refuse.” Harry laughed. “How about you, Astoria? Any summer plans?”  
“Avoid Draco Malfoy.” She answered promptly.  
“That’s not a summer thing, that’s a school thing.” Ron pointed out.

Astoria shrugged. “It’s going to be harder when he ambushes me at the World Cup or something.”  
“You’re going too?” Hermione asked in surprise.  
Astoria nodded. “Mutti and I love Quidditch. Dad and Daphne don’t, but eh. 2/4 isn’t bad.”  
“Bulgaria or Ireland?” Hermione asked her.

“Oh, Bulgaria. Mutti has cousins there, and have you _seen_ Krum? They say when he flies, even Odin watches him. The man is everything a Quidditch player _should_ be, and I’m going to do my best to become just like him.”  
Harry vaguely remembered a poster of Krum. He then pictured Astoria’s face superimposed on it, and grimaced slightly. There was no way she could be that tall without being stretched. Harry quickly abandoned the thought, lest he take Astoria mentally through a funhouse and never be able to look at her the same way again.

“Krum’s an artist.” Ron agreed seriously. “I’m glad that _someone_ —” here he glared at the twins. “—appreciates him.”  
Astoria nodded. “The timing couldn’t be better—next year, I can finally try out for the Slytherin team.”  
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest, seeing as Malfoy is the seeker?” Harry asked.

“Oh, Harry, that’s sweet of you, but I will be trying out as a Chaser, not a Beater.” Astoria patted his hand. “You don’t need to worry about me hurting your friend.”  
“He means the rule about soulmates playing, because you’ll get distracted by each other.” Ron pointed out.

“Good for Gryffindor.” Astoria said. “Maybe you’ll finally be able to catch the snitch if our seeker’s going to be a bloody fool.”  
“Hey.” Draco pouted, sliding into the seat next to her. “I’m not a fool.”  
“We’re talking about the rule about soulmates being on the team. I find it ridiculous, and I am going to be trying out next year for a Chaser.”

“But won’t we get distracted by each other?”  
“ _I_ won’t.” Astoria said firmly.  
“Right, then I won’t either.” Draco replied smoothly.  
Astoria looked Draco up and down. “You’ve been talking to Blaise.”

“Blaise is my best friend.”  
Astoria looked him over again, then raised an eyebrow. “You play the part of an earnest boy in puppy-love much better.”  
“Thank _gods_.” Draco groaned. “I just want to have a nap and go home.”  
“You didn’t want to do that?” Astoria asked in surprise.

“No.” Draco sighed. “Blaise said imitating how suave he is might work.”  
Astoria bit her lip, before kissing the top of his head. “Um… you’re better. Like this, I mean.”  
Draco turned red, and Astoria got up and briskly walked away.  
“Holy _shit_.” Harry noted.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of tears and hugs and kisses, and “you’ll write, won’t you?” and “of course”. Draco had been grinning since breakfast and Blaise was honestly a bit scared, as was Theodore.  
“Draco, please stop smiling.” Blaise begged.  
“Please don’t murder us.” Theodore added.

“She _kissed_ me.”  
“Who?”  
“Astoria, who else?”

“Draco, you and Astoria _have_ kissed…” Theodore began, looking at Blaise.  
“She wasn’t into it.” Blaise remarked brusquely.  
“I would have commented on how it was forced upon her, but Blaise is right.”

“No, _she_ kissed _me_.” Draco remarked. “Wait, what are you talking about?”  
“You got a bit sexual assault-y a few months ago when you went crazy from too much sugar.” Blaise commented. “Apparently she’s forgiven you though.”  
“Yes! She kissed me on top of my head! She doesn’t hate me!”

“I honestly can’t relate to you.” Theodore said after a moment of silence. “Pansy and I hold hands a lot, and other such niceties.”  
“She was _blushing_.” Draco sang.  
“Let him have this.” Blaise murmured to Theodore.

Elsewhere, Harry Potter had already confirmed his (and his guardian’s) presence at the World Cup, and was now helping his friends pack for the summer.  
Elliot was also packing.  
“You just got here.” Minerva protested.  
“I’ll come back.” Elliot promised. “I just have to go home for a few days. My… Minerva? Can you keep a secret?”  
“Of course.”

Elliot took a deep breath, before steeling herself. “My soulmate, David, and I were happy once. We were going to have a baby, and I took some time off from Ilvermorny to prepare. And she was perfect. We both loved Priscilla so, so much. But there were some rougarous nearby that were bothering the neighbors, and I used to teach Care of Magical Creatures and… sorry, rambling. Anyway, I left that night, and Dave had work, so the only person watching Priscilla was a little thirteen year old with gaps in his teeth.” Elliot gave a bitter laugh before continuing.  “I don’t know who did it, but Priscilla was on her stomach when we returned. She was so little… Minerva, my daughter suffocated because I was gone. It tore Dave and me apart. She died, so young, so _tiny_ … I was going to go back this year on the anniversary of her death. Just for a few days. I need to see her grave, I need to apologize…”

Minerva sighed as Elliot began to cry. At first it was just tears welling up in her eyes, then spilling over as sobs wracked Elliot’s body.   
McGonagall pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry.”  
Elliot hugged her back. “Please don’t tell anyone…”  
“I won’t.” McGonagall promised.

Two owls flew in at that moment, a beautiful barn owl with a silver bow and a harried-looking eagle owl entered through the window. The eagle owl eyed the barn owl, who shifted course and landed on a painting of Phineas Nigellus, keeping an eye on both the other owl and Sam.  
The eagle owl made as if to pursue, but a screech from Sam had him land on the desk instead.

Elliot climbed on top of a chair and retrieved the letter from the barn owl, shooting Phineas a dark look. “I was just sobbing about my daughter’s death, and you’re _really_ going to do that?”  
Phineas started blushing and stuttering. “Madam! _Your_ bosoms were in _my_ face! How do you even know I was looking at them, hmm?”

“Because you didn’t make a fuss about an American halfblood getting close to you.” Elliot huffed, feeling more professional. She opened the letter and scanned it quickly, before sighing.  
McGonagall opened the eagle-owl’s letter. “Oh dear.”

“I hate Dumbledore.”  
“Well, it’s too late to call it off.” McGonagall pointed out. “Not with the confirmation.”  
Elliot groaned, before siting up. “I guess I can’t go home this year… ah well, probably for the best. We have a busy summer ahead of us, Minerva.”  
“I… I promised Harry we’d go to the Quidditch World Cup.” McGonagall sighed. “And I have to visit my brothers…”

Elliot shrugged. “Well, I don’t need you to _be_ here for it. Just check in every week or so.”  
“Really?”  
“Of course, I work better alone anyway. I just need you to handle the Ministry of Magic here for the stupid tournament while I go get teachers. Also, maybe you could deal with Cuthbert Binns and Sybil Trelawney?”

“Deal with them how?” McGonagall asked.  
“Fire them.” Elliot said simply. “And… thank you, Minerva. I needed a good cry.”  
“You still do.” McGonagall said simply, before leaving.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I already used that Starkid reference. But shhhh. 
> 
> Also, at this point, I reveal I barely have any planning! Huzzah! Enjoy this completely filler chapter that only reveals things we already knew, except for Draco getting one kiss like a boss, ghost drama no one cares about, and Elliot's dead baby! Hooray!


	28. In Which Most of Goblet of Fire's Opening is condensed and changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for another crack-pair. 
> 
> And more strange knowledge gleaned from my hours of wiki-mining.

Harry pulled his coat tighter around himself. It was all well and good that Hogwarts was in Scotland, but the fact of the matter was that it was much closer to the border than _this_. As a boy raised in Surrey of all places, he was not made for overly cold weather, _like Caithness_.  

McGonagall however, was enjoying herself. She was also dressed for the cold weather, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she found it _bracing_ instead of _freezing_. Shivering, he came to the conclusion to never fight a Scot in cold weather. He followed McGonagall out of the train carriage, and out to the station entrance, where a middle-aged man was waiting for them, grinning. “Eh, Minnie, you seem to have picked up a straggler!”   
McGonagall laughed. “No, Malcolm, this is Harry.”

“ _Really_? ‘Cause he looks more like a little twig that stuck to your Muggle jacket on your way up from Edinburgh. Don’t they feed children at Hogwarts anymore, Minnie?”   
McGonagall smiled wanly. “Get in the car, Harry. Wait, no, say hello to your Uncle Malcolm first, young man.”   
Harry extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Oh, _sir_ he calls me.” Malcolm chuckled. “Don’t you worry, Minnie is the most austere out of the three of us. I’m just a simple farmer.”   
“What do you tell the Muggles you’re planting now?”   
“This year, it’s aubergines.” Malcolm winked. “They all think I’m a shit gardener. ‘Please, Malcolm, but that fancy school degree to use and get yourself a real job’ ‘stop living off of your wife’ ‘what would your parents say’?”

An awkward silence fell between the two siblings, and Harry leaned forward. “So, Uncle Malcolm, what team do you follow for Quidditch?”   
“Ah, Harry. ‘Round here, everyone is fans of the Banchory Bangers.”   
Minerva snorted. “They’re _shit_ , Malcolm.” Her hands then flew to her mouth.

Malcolm burst out laughing. “Well done, Harry! You got Minnie swearing a few minutes away from the station! We’ll make a McGonagall of you yet!”   
“Anyway, don’t listen to him, Harry. The Montrose Magpies are the best team in Scotland.”   
“Well, they _would_ be, if not for that shite Maddock. He’s going to cost them the final, you just know it.”

“How so?” Harry asked.   
“Dumb bastard is too fixated on Muggle sports. It’s going to blow up in his face one day.” Malcolm snorted.   
Minerva huffed, annoyed. “There are two other chasers, a seeker, a keeper, and two beaters. Surely they can compensate for him. Campbell’s good at what he does, for example.”   
“ _Aye_ , but Campbell’s a little screwy in the head.”

Harry settled back, watching them argue happily about Quidditch teams and whatnot, all the way to a stately house over looking the town. Malcolm parked, and immediately a flurry of Gryffindors Harry recognized burst out of the house.   
“Aunt Minnie!” A seventh year yelled, hugging Minerva.

“Iseabail, you see me all year at school.” Minerva gently reminded her, though she hugged the tall redhead back.   
“ _Yeah_ , but then you’re ‘Professor McGonagall’, not ‘Aunt Minnie’.” Iseabail huffed.   
The McGonagall clan then peered at Harry.  

“He should be on our team for Quidditch.” Iseabail decided, clapping Harry on the back. Harry stumbled a bit.   
“That’s not fair!”   
“You can’t have him!”   
“He’s on the house team, that’s bias!” The other cousins protested loudly.

“Well, we can’t let the Gryffindor seeker go to waste.” Iseabail huffed. “And now we’ve got enough for a real Quidditch game. He can play with you lot next time.”   
“Ah, Izzy, he’s just gotten off the train. Play after dinner.” Malcolm laughed.   
The collected crowd of McGonagalls groaned.

“Besides, he has to meet Robert.” Minerva added.   
“You’ll love Granddad!” Iseabail clapped Harry on the back again. Harry was _vaguely_ certain she didn’t mean it as a threat.   
Harry then followed the brood of McGonagalls into the house. Portraits lined the walls, both magical and Muggle and the hallway snaked its crooked way down to depths he couldn’t see. On the staircase, a ghost in his early to mid-thirties was talking to a photograph of a woman who looked rather like Minerva McGonagall, though her hair was hanging down to her shoulders in large curls in the style of the 1940s instead of up in a bun, and she seemed less austere.

“Mother, Robert, we’re here.” Minerva had somehow found Harry and pushed him to the front.   
Mrs. McGonagall and Robert the ghost turned to look at them. Mrs. McGonagall’s face lit up. “Minnie, you’re home! Hello!”   
“And who is this?” Robert looked directly at Harry, then back at Minerva.

Thankfully, Iseabail the Amazon didn’t come forward and introduce Harry with another clap on the back.   
“This is Harry Potter. I have adopted him, as his blood relations have proven insufficient for his needs.”   
Mrs. McGonagall clapped her hands. “Another grandchild! I had nearly given up hope!”   
“You have great-grandchildren.” Robert reminded her.

Mrs. McGonagall clicked her tongue. “Not the same, love. Though of course I adore each and every of you.” She told the assembled crowd of children and teenagers.    
Robert smiled wanly. “Have you been to see Dad yet?”   
“No, we just arrived.” Minerva sighed.

“He’s in the kitchen, making tea.” Robert said. “He, um… I haven’t really checked on him, you know how he is. How I am…. You know.”   
Harry immediately looked to Minerva, who was wearing her, ‘someone is going to lose half the house points because of the stupid thing you’ve done now’ look.   
“Isn’t… he a ghost?” Harry tried.

“Don’t be absurd. Great-Grandpa is only 78.” Iseabail snorted.   
“How old do you think I am?” Malcolm asked jovially.   
“I would rather not answer that.” Harry replied.   
The crowd pushed him towards the kitchen, where an old man was sitting at the table with a steaming cup of tea.

“Hello there, Minnie. Who’s this, then?”   
“This is Harry Potter, Dad. I’ve adopted him.” Minerva said quietly.   
“Oh. Is he… like you?” Mr. McGonagall said softly.   
“…yes. He is.” Minerva said.

“I see…” Mr. McGonagall looked at his tea, before looking back at Harry. “Well, welcome to the family, young man. Don’t worry, there’s still time to make you as burly as young Iseabail there.”   
Iseabail grinned, and Harry fervently hoped she wouldn’t clap her grat-grandfather on the back as well. He looked as though he’d keel over if a breeze hit him.   
“I’m nearly fourteen, sir.”

“Really? I could have sworn you were eight, maybe ten at most…” Mr. McGonagall looked up sharply at his daughter. “Minerva Ross McGonagall, what has happened to this boy?”   
Harry got the sudden impression Professor McGonagall’s personality didn’t come from the happy portrait outside, but rather the man in front of them.   
“Rest assured Dad, I called the policemen to deal with those ruffians. I doubt that woman had any license for animals either—did you know she had a shaved gorilla in a blond wig? In _Surrey_?” Minerva gave a snort of derision.

“The crazy things your people do nowadays.”   
“No, Dad. They were a regular Surrey family. Apparently they had another son, but hopefully the social care workers sorted that all out.”   
“If they had a gorilla, they weren’t _that_ regular.” Mr. McGonagall snorted, before surveying his descendants. “Beileag, get the boy some tea. He’s been through an ordeal. Malcolm, call Coira or make him some supper yourself, the boy looks like he’s about to fall over under the weight of the coat.”

Iseabail moved forward from the crowd and put a kettle on the gas stove.   
“I thought her name was…?” Harry trailed off.   
Malcolm grinned. “Pet form, Harry. Don’t worry, by the end of the summer, you’ll be a proper Scot.”

True enough, weeks later when Harry and McGonagall Flooed into the Burrow, Harry was sporting a Scottish brogue, and a new haircut.   
“Harry, how are you?” Ron asked.   
“Honestly a lot better than I usually am during the summer.” Harry said in a thick accent. “But it’s radge to be around redheads who aren’t part of the McGonagall clan.”

Ron nodded. “Yes. Great. That.”   
“Ah, dinnae worry, I’m still your Sassenach friend.”   
Ron looked at Minerva, who was highly amused.   
“He stepped up the Scot a bit, Mr. Weasley, at the behest of his cousins.”    
Harry huffed. “You ruined the bit.”

“Did you really want the Weasley twins picking up said ‘bit’, and speaking in horrible accents all throughout?” Minerva snorted quietly, so as to keep from waking up the parts of the Weasley family who were not yet awake. “Speaking of which, where are your children, Arthur?”   
Arthur blinked quite rapidly. “Well, Ron is right here, and he’s been up early, waiting to see Harry.”

“Oh, Dad, I was just making sure that Professor McGonagall didn’t lose him in Scotland to the Muggles.”   
“Or the cold.” Harry grinned. “But thanks for looking out for me, mate. That’s why you’re the best.”   
Ron flushed, before pulling his friend into a tight hug. “Don’t keep those things locked away, okay? I care about you. ‘Mione cares. Hell, even bloody Malfoy probably cares.”

“Language.” McGonagall said shortly, though she smiled.   
“I care about you too, Ron.” Harry pulled him into a tight hug. “Even if I had to get up at bloody 3:05 am and sneak past a brood of sleeping Scots, some of which look like Amazons.”   
“Not my fault, mate. The bloody Quidditch players and prep and all that.” Ron laughed. “Besides, we’ll be late. Oi! Fred! George! Ginny! 'Mione! Get down here!”

Minerva and Arthur cringed as he bellowed up the stairs.    
“Shut it Ron!” Ginny yelled back. “We can’t all be up at the arse-crack of dawn waiting for Harry bloody Potter like _you_!”   
“He’s _your_ soulmate!” Ron replied. “Probably got your name above his arse or something!”   
“Thank you, Ron.” Harry muttered.

“Yeah, well, seeing as you still haven’t found it, and I caught you looking that time—if that was what you were doing— so it’s probably behind you. Probably above your arse.” Ron reasoned.   
“I do not have a tramp stamp!” Harry hissed.   
“I didn’t say you did.”   
“What on Earth is a tramp stamp?” Arthur asked Minerva.

“A tattoo above one’s posterior, usually by women. I expect they’ll become popular soon, though I can’t imagine why.” Minerva snorted.   
Ginny was the first one to appear, pulling a sweater over her head.

“Must you be so vulgar, Ron? I swear, Hermione’s going to go mental trying to live with you! Oh… hi, Harry.”   
Harry raised a hand in greeting. “Professor McGonagall’s here too.”   
“Hello, Ginevra.”

Ginny flushed. “Did-did you two hear all that?”   
“Yes, and I am sure that I don’t have your name above my arse.”   
“Stop debating about the space above your arse, Mr. Potter.” McGonagall snorted.

Hermione followed next, carrying a duffel bag. “Good morning everyone. Harry, hello!” She dropped her bag and hugged her friend. “How are you?”   
“Came in with a bad Scottish accent.” Ron snorted. “Other than that he seems fine. Hasn’t lost weight like he normally has in the summer.”   
Hermione nodded solemnly. “Good job, Harry. And you’d tell us if you were being mistreated, wouldn’t you?”

“Are you willing to take on seven-foot-tall Scots? Who, and I quote, were kicked off the Quidditch team for the most part because of aggression? And who are related to Professor McGonagall?” Harry whispered conspiratorially.   
“Of course.” Ron said.   
“For you? Are you kidding?” Hermione agreed.   
“We’re with you to the end of the line.” Ginny grinned.

“Well, it’s nice to have you all support Harry, but I assure you, he’s quite safe under the wings of the McGonagall clan. I would, however, like to see you take on my great-niece, Iseabail.”   
“Iseabail McGonagall? She’s lovely.” Hermione commented. “Very fond of clapping one on the back though.”   
“Oh. You weren’t kidding about the seven-foot-tall Scot.” Ron looked slightly green.

Fred and George appeared out of seemingly nowhere. “Oh, Iseabail McGonagall? Did you see the time Malfoy ran into her, and thought she was a Weasley?”   
“We _may_ have encouraged that.”   
“And she _may_ have given him one warning.”   
“I always found that rude, didn’t you Gred?”

“Of course Forge. Who _wouldn’t_ want to be one of us?”   
“We’ve already got a waiting list, remember?”   
“Oh yes, Angelina.”   
“And Oliver.”   
“And Audrey.”   
“And Fleur.”   
“And Nathaniel.”   
“And Hermione.”   
“And Harry.”

“That last one’s not right, that’s Ginny abandoning our famed and wondrous heritage to go off having little brunette babies.”   
“I am shocked.”   
“Apalled.”   
“Aghast.”   
“Stunned.”

“Alright, let’s take your traveling show on the road.” Arthur interrupted. “We don’t want to miss the portkey.”   
Harry made a face, remembering with distinct clarity the sickening feeling portkeys gave him.   
“We could always permanently spell our nieces and nephews to be redheads.”   
“Leave my theoretical children out of your mess.” Ginny huffed.   
“And mine too.” Ron added.

“Spell it _green_ , for equal opportunity.” Harry rationalized, as they climbed a great hill.   
Cedric and Cho, along with a man who seemed to be Cedric’s father, were waiting for them.   
“Hey, guys.” Cedric grinned.   
“Hello Cedric, Cho.” Hermione waved.   
Cedric then noticed Minerva and nearly jumped a foot in the air. “Professor, I-I…” He also stepped about a foot away from Cho.

“Eh, Cho, foos yer doos? What’s the craic?” Harry asked.   
Cho began giggling. “Been brushing up on your inner Scot, Harry?”   
“I’ve been in Caithness since summer began.” Harry shrugged.

“Och, Harry lad, ya should have told us.” Fred began in a very strong, and very exaggerated accent.   
“Aye, laddie! We coulda spoken the tongue with you!” George chimed in.   
Minerva shot Harry a pointed look, and Cho chuckled. “I forgot you two were this funny. This is going to be a good time.”

“Well, Ireland’s going to be a winner anyway, so I should hope it’s a good time!” Cedric grinned.   
“Not on your life. Bulgaria will win.” Ron huffed as they grabbed a disgusting boot.   
“You mean _Viktor Krum_ will win.” Fred waggled his eyebrows.   
George had no time to make a witty remark as they were flying through the air.

“Children, let go!” Arthur yelled.   
“What?!” Hermione replied.   
“Brace yourself.” Harry groaned.   
“Let go!” Minerva added.

One by one, everyone let go. Everyone under sixteen went flying through the air, only to land on the ground with many _thumps_. Cedric was holding Cho’s hands, helping guide her through the air, despite the smirk on her face implying that she could very well do it on her own.   
“Oh, bloody hell, you can _walk_?” Ron huffed, dusting himself off. Harry shared his friend’s sentiment.

“We’ll just remember for next time.” Hermione said pragmatically.   
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Right, the perfect couple is back, so we’ll have to step up our game, Harry. Let’s work on our Parseltongue and pretend we’re saying naughty things to each other.”

“You will _not_ , you’re my little sister!” Ron huffed as they snaked through the campground.   
“We’re just pretending, don’t say you don’t think Cedric and Cho are rubbing how perfect they are in our faces.” Ginny huffed. “They’re so damned _happy_.”   
Harry nodded. “The only thing to do is be more perfect than them.”

“It’s a hard thing to do, but I think we can do it.” Hermione added. “Ron, we should do stereotypical young love, while Harry and Ginny go for blazing passion.”   
“She’s _thirteen_!” Ron hissed, throwing his bag on a bunk in the section labelled ‘boys’ of their tent.   
“Blazing young love.” Hermione shrugged. “I mean, more of a them-against-the-world type of thing, which I suppose it is… but in any case, we can’t just do the everything-is-perfect-around-us-like-a-planet-our-perfection-is-essentially-gravity-pulling-lesser-beings-into-our-orbit thing that Cho and Cedric do.”

“I _can_ hear you.” Cho laughed.   
Hermione jumped about a foot into the air.   
“ _Tell_ them this is ridiculous.” Ron huffed.   
“Oh, _no_. It’s been a long time since we had a challenge like this.” Cho smirked. “Besides, that’s how Cedric and I became so lovey-dovey in the first place. We were trying to outdo Carrie Kingsley and Rachel Allston.”

“Did you?” Harry asked.   
Cho shrugged as Cedric popped up beside her. “We differ about that. Hufflepuffs are hardworking, but Ravenclaws will never drop an opportunity to collect data. I feel we’re sufficiently ‘perfect’, our relationship is practically Project Manhattan it is so nuclear, but Cedric and I aren’t characters in a story in private.”

“That just makes you more perfect in your imperfection.” George pointed out.   
Cedric shrugged. “I guess so. How’s Angelina?”   
“…well played, Diggory.” Fred noted. “Well played.”

“What does that mean in anyone who isn’t you two?” Ron asked.   
“You don’t need to know.” George answered cryptically.   
“At least, not without a ritual involving four full fur coats.”   
“And a red handbag from the 1970s.”   
“And clown make-up.”   
“And a raw steak.”   
“And five peacock eggs.”   
“ _But_ no blood or scratches from angry peacocks.”

“Of course.” Ron replied. “Why _wouldn’t_ I need those?”   
Cedric grinned. “You know, if you lot want to be adorable, we started with feeding each other bits of pudding.”   
“Simple, yet endearing.” Harry mused. “Thank you for the reference point.”   
Cho grinned. “Well, truth be told Harry, you look like you need it.”

“Please do not clap me on the back like Iseabail McGonagall.” Harry said immediately.   
Cedric peered at him. “Well, perhaps you’re stronger than I thought. Anyway, we’d better get going, hadn’t we?”

Far away, Bellatrix Lestrange was bored, and the Death Eaters were uneasy.   
“How are we supposed to find our Lord, Mulciber?” She demanded.   
“Er… go to… Albania?”

Her glare intensified. “Mulciber, you complete idiot. How can I get a raise if I’m tramping about Albania?”   
“We… could… go?” Mulciber tried. “Without you?”  
Bellatrix snorted. “ _Really_? And I suppose you’d want to take my husband and brother-in-law with you? No, Mulciber. The house needs _all_ of us to keep running. _All of us_. If you don’t want to be counted as that, you can leave immediately and be the house-elf to Number Four Privet Drive.”

“Horrible woman.” Rodolphus agreed. “I itch to torture her.”   
“As do I, darling, but we can’t have everything.” Bellatrix sighed. “This would be so much easier if we still had that traitor Snape. Or even Barty—he was young, but I liked his enthusiasm.”   
“He was doing beautifully under your tutelage.” Rabastan agreed. “Isn’t the World Cup coming up soon?”

Everyone stared at him.   
“The… the Muggle football?” Augustus Rookwood asked disbelievingly. “Rabastan, it’s the most boring thing I’ve ever seen. You can’t possibly _like_ it.”   
Rabastan rolled his eyes. “ _No_ , the _Quidditch_ World Cup. We’ve been locked away for twelve years; I missed three cups, I don’t want to miss four.”

“We’re meant to stay here.” Bellatrix scowled.   
“No one would recognize us under the hoods.” Rabastan said quietly.   
Rodolphus rolled his eyes. “Rabastan, be serious. We can’t show up in the hoods and masks. You just want some after match torture, hmm?”   
“Well, it’s a bit late to get in, anyway.” Rabastan smirked. “Might as well get some fun out of it. And steal some memories of the match while we’re there.”

“Wait a minute, Narcissa Malfoy said we had to behave.” Dolohov chimed in from his corner, where he was placed out of the shame he brought to them all.    
“The Wizarding World won’t know it’s us.” Bellatrix reasoned. “And I’ve been _itching_ to use my wand. Alright. Rabastan, get the masks, cloaks and hoods. Rookwood, tell Malfoy what we’re up to. And Dolohov, be useful and find out where they’re holding it.”

“What’ll _you_ do, Bellatrix?” Rodolphus asked.   
“I shall enquire into this subject of ‘paid leave’ from Grunnings.” Bellatrix pointed out.   
“What is ‘paid leave’?” Rookwood asked.   
Bellatrix leaned forward on the couch. “It is when you are still employed by the company, but you’re not working for them for a few weeks, and _then_ you still get paid before you come back and work for them more.”

All the Death Eaters gasped.   
“Grunnings must be as rich as the Malfoys.” Rabastan murmured.   
“I wonder if Our Lord will implement this upon his return?” Rodolphus mused. “We should ask.”

Meanwhile, far to the North (yet not across the border) in Nottinghamshire, Severus Snape opened his door and was greeted with a blinding smile.   
“Severus!”   
“Lockhart.” He gave a sound between a sigh and a huff. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you!”   
“Well, I don’t have room for you, let alone the pack of lawyers baying at your heels. Good day.”   
Snape made to shut the door, but Lockhart stuck his boot in it. “Come now, Severus. Is that any way to treat your soulmate?”   
Snape glared at him. “Seeing as it is you? Yes. Piss off, Lockhart.”

Lockhart pouted. “Severus, that’s so cruel. Not even offering me a cup of tea? When I have so much to offer you?”   
Snape snorted so hard he was sure that he had inadvertently displaced one of his sinuses. “You have nothing to offer me. I’m finally free, so piss off.”   
“Sev, you may be ‘free’ as you put it, but you’re rubbish with the press. With your power and my charm, what can stop us?”

Snape glared at him. “Charm? As in, sending yourself 800 valentines for Valentine’s Day?”   
“Well, _you_ didn’t send me any.” Lockhart huffed. “And I thought it was fun. Besides having to watch you stare at Lily Evans all day hoping for some measure of affection when _I_ went to the trouble of following you around all day and slipping Valentines into your bag.”

“That was _you_?”   
“Yes, Severus. The 800 were quantity over quality. I stayed up all night making yours.” Lockhart huffed.   
“…regardless, you have no right to talk about Lily that way.”   
“I do! You were—are—my soulmate, not hers! Why did you think Potter hated you so much?”

“Because Potter was a prat.” Snape snorted.   
Lockhart shrugged. “Well, that too. I didn’t like him all that much myself.”   
“Oh? One would think your shows of blinding charisma would attract one another.”   
“ _I_ have loyalty.” Lockhart said stiffly. “Which is another thing—I was just as good as her.”

“You most certainly were _not_! Lily was intelligent—”   
“Yes, hello, Ravenclaw here?”   
“You never applied yourself the way she did.”   
“I didn’t feel I needed to! I was always treated as perfect the way that I was!”

“Yes, well, you aren’t.” Snape made as if to close the door again, but Lockhart stopped him. Somehow, the idiot had figured out he wore Muggle pants under his robes and has hooked his fingers through the belt loops, drawing Snape closer. Snape made a very undignified squeak.   
“Severus, we’re two sides of the same coin, you and I. One step either way regarding our parents could have given us each other's past.”

“Unhand me immediately.” Snape ordered.   
Lockhart acquiesced, but not before he had entered Snape’s house. Snape narrowed his eyes in distaste. Dumbledore’s meddling wouldn’t save Lockhart a stinging backside _this_ time. Why he agreed to do that insipid Duelling Club in the first place was beyond him. It wasn’t as though he was hungry for sightings of the blond, he had some very modest pictures of Lockhart in a box under his bed for when he felt his sanity slipping from separation. (These were in a separate box from his photos of Lily, though at least he knew why the pictures of Lockhart hated the pictures of her so much.) 

“Severus, I meant what I said about helping you. I need to lay a bit low, but I can help maintain _your_ public image. That can only help you in the long run, no matter which way the wind blows. I can make your life a bit brighter.” Lockhart did his disarming smile again, likely trying to hypnotize Snape into doing his bidding.

Snape glared at him for a moment. “Fine. You will sleep on the couch. You will _not_ touch me without my explicit consent, or I will throw you out. And you will _not_ regress to your idiotic persona, or I will throw you out. Why did you even have that, anyway? Never mind. You will _not_ bother my house-elf, or I will throw you out. You will _not_ attract too much attention, or—”   
“You’ll throw me out?” Lockhart asked.

Snape glowered. He was _not_ predictable. “No. I shall make you into Potions ingredients.”   
“Ah, of course.”   
Lockhart did not seem to take Snape seriously. Well, that would change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I live in a warm climate, and I only got as far as Fife this summer. The UK is COLD.


	29. I am trying to see how much of Goblet of Fire I can condense into one chapter

“So are we together for the Cup?” Harry asked Cedric and Cho as they proceeded to the arena, everyone decked out in the merchandise of their choosing.   
“Nah, we’re a little lower down.” Cedric gave an apologetic smile.   
“Ginny!” An enthusiastic blur of red and black interrupted Harry’s response by tackling the youngest Weasley.

“I thought she was over that…” Ron noted.   
“Hey, Astoria.” Ginny ignored her brother. “How are you?”   
“Oh, we’re just grand. I’m so glad I don’t have to go to anymore tea parties or balls or anything of the like.” Harry nearly did a double take—the walking pile of Bulgaria merchandise was, in fact, Astoria, and not a particularly aggressive marketing campaign.  
At a sedate pace behind her, also wearing as much merchandise for Bulgaria for possible, was Mrs. Greengrass.

“Hello, ma’am.” Mr. Weasley shook her hand. “Arthur Weasley.”   
“Adalicia Greengrass. Bulgaria?”   
“Er, no. Ireland.”

Adalicia huffed. “I swear, it’s extremely laborious trying to find an English witch or wizard who doesn’t support Ireland. You lot don’t even _like_ Ireland.”   
Astoria bounced excitedly in place, having righted herself and retreating to stand next to her mother. “Bulgaria is going to _win_.”   
“Care to place a bet?” George grinned.   
Astoria raised an eyebrow. “You’re a Weasley twin.”

“And?” Fred asked, coming up on her other side.   
Astoria crossed her arms. “I know your reputation well enough. I wouldn’t put it past you two to somehow fix the results.”   
“Of the entire game?” George asked.   
Astoria nodded. “You know can be as sneaky as any of us. Sneakier, even. I also admire your Quidditch skills—you two _really_ should have been Slytherins."    
Both twins looked highly offended.

Ever the peacemaker, Cedric intervened. “I’m sure she meant that in the nicest possible way. She’s a Slytherin, she probably thinks it’s a high compliment.”   
“I thought we were past this rivalry nonsense.” Adalicia noted, before cooing something at her daughter in German and beginning to walk away.   
Astoria made a face. “We’re next to the Malfoys on one side, and the Austrian ambassador on the other. I don’t want Malfoy making eyes at me while having to deal with the Austrians.”

“What’s wrong with the Austrians?” Harry asked.   
“They’re _backwards_.” Astoria huffed. “And they call _us_ stiff, and rigid! And _cranky_! Of course, there’s also the divide between the French-Swiss and the German-Swiss, and Mutti is, quite frankly, both.”   
“What’s the difference?”   
“One is more French, the other is more German. But the French –like Malfoy!—don’t respect authority.”

“Ah.” Harry said. “I see.” (In reality, none of the British seemed to understand but it helped to calm her down.)    
“I thought you and Draco were getting along better.” Hermione said.   
“We are. Sort of. But he and Daphne got in a fight.” Astoria sighed. “And he showed up beneath my balcony with bad poetry after bedtime.”

“He needs to tone it down.” Ron pointed out.   
Astoria nodded. “I’d better go. See you all later.”   
“When Ireland kicks Bulgaria’s arse!” Harry added.   
Adalicia snorted. “With Krum on their side? Please, you’re deluding yourself. _Come_ , schatzi. We have to get our snacks and seats.”

“As do we.” Mr. Weasley agreed. “Come, everyone. Cedric, Cho, you’d better go find Amos.”   
“Of course Mr. Weasley.” Cho agreed, before grabbing Cedric’s hand. “C’mon, Ced. There’s a free spot behind the tents that we can snog in.”   
“ _Cho_!” Cedric turned bright red as Minerva returned.

“Sorry, Ced, we have to go pitch a tent.” She said, winking.   
The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione watched in fascination as Cedric turned an even deeper red.   
“What’s wrong with him?” Minerva asked as Cedric and Cho left.   
“Young love.” Mr. Weasley winked.   
“Ah. Well, as long as they’re using contraceptives, they should be fine.” Minerva decided.

The twins immediately began staring at her, as did Hermione.   
“What are contraceptives?” Ginny asked.   
Harry shrugged, watching Hermione began to sputter. “Alright Hermione?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “I… I’m fine. Let’s not talk about it, at least without the adults here.”   
Minerva looked highly amused as they proceeded to the snack vendor and then to their seats.

“Potter!” Someone called, right next to Harry’s ear.   
“Gah! Hello, Draco.” Harry readjusted himself.   
Draco let the voice enhancement charm fall as he clambered up the seats to see his friends. “Hello, Harry. Did you know I’m sitting in the Minister’s box with Father? And Astoria is on our left, can you believe it?”

“No.” Harry said, trying to sound as sincere as possible.   
“Well, she is.” Draco replied. “It’s _quite_ fortuitous. Would you like to sit with us?”   
“Harry’s with _us_ , Malfoy.” Ron pointed out.   
“Oh.” Draco noted, his eyes sweeping the assembled Weasleys. “I see.”

“Package deal, Draco.” Harry said. “The Weasleys and Hermione go where I go.”   
“Yes, but _must_ they?”   
Harry was unimpressed. “Draco, they _must_ , while you _can_ be my friend.”   
“Well, now, that’s rude. I won’t even tell you what I did with Daphne Greengrass and my plans for wooing Astoria.”

“Did it involve poetry under the moonlight?” Harry asked.  
Draco blinked in surprise. “Why, yes. How did you know?”   
“We ran into Astoria earlier.” Hermione supplied.   
Draco deflated a bit. “Oh.”

“Draco, let your friends be, and come along.” Lucius called.   
“We will discuss this later!” Draco called as he scuttled back to his father.   
“I didn’t even get a chance to try my accent.” Harry sighed.   
“Never mind that, the match is starting!” Ron called as the Irish team kicked off of the ground. Everyone began diving for the gold that rained down from their mascots (the leprechauns) and almost missed the Bulgarian mascots. Almost.

“Boys.” Hermione huffed as all the boys around her became entranced by the Veela on the Quidditch pitch.   
“Quite right, Miss Granger.” Minerva agreed. “We came to watch Quidditch, not for these Veela to shake their rumps.”   
“Didn’t Astoria say something about a Bulgarian cousin? Maybe she’s related to the Veela.” Hermione mused.

“Astoria’s brunette, not blonde.” Ginny pointed out, gesturing to the field below.   
“It would explain Mr. Malfoy’s behavior though.” Minerva noted. “Though believe me, I have seen boys act foolishly _without_ the influence of veelas.”   
The game finally kicked off, with running commentary from the Minister of Magic and the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ireland won, but Krum got the snitch.

Adalicia was seething at the end of the game, to the point where she nearly planted a particularly nasty hex on the Austrian ambassador.

“Well, it seems Ireland won.” Lucius purred, he and Draco having followed the Greengrasses to the stairs.   
Adalicia ground her teeth. “Krum still got the snitch. Lynch is useless.”   
“Lynch fell to the ground in a rather painful-looking sort of way because of Krum’s Wronski Feint.” Draco pointed out.   
“Considering that the Peruvian team tried nearly the same thing, one must wonder if Lynch is addled.” Astoria chimed in.

Adalicia let out a very tense breath. “Regardless. Apparently the English were right about one thing.”   
“That’s a bit rude.” Lucius said.   
“Malfoy, I am not here for the tea parties and marriage talks and your son making calf-eyes at my daughter. I am here to watch Ireland be _crushed_ by Bulgaria. It has not been. I am exceedingly cross right now, so bugger off.”

Lucius looked taken aback. Never in his life had anyone told him to bugger off, especially someone of good breeding. However, he knew the signs of a Pureblood meltdown, and rationalized it would probably be better to leave her be.   
“But you’re Swiss…” Draco said.   
Lucius could have hit himself (though it would have left a mark on his beautiful face, so he didn’t). Draco was still so young and sheltered.

“Draco, let’s go…”   
“No Father I need to talk to Astoria—”   
“Trust me, you don’t. Goodbye Madame Greengrass, Astoria.”   
“Malfoy.” Adalicia said in reply as the blonds hurried away.

Only a few hours later, it all came to a head.   
“Sounds like the Irish are celebrating.” Fred said as an explosion was heard.   
“Fireworks?” Harry agreed.   
Then the screaming began.   
McGonagall paled. “That’s not the Irish. Run children, head for the woods!”

Hermione and Ron both grabbed one of Harry’s hands each and sprinted for the wooded area around the campsite. Behind them, Harry was certain that Fred and George were doing the same with Ginny.   
“I’m not a baby!” Harry hissed.   
“Harry, these are Death Eaters!” Hermione growled. “We don’t plan on losing you!”

They made it to the woods, only for Draco Malfoy to pop up a few minutes later, Astoria clinging to him.   
“What happened?” Harry asked.   
Draco swallowed. “Granger, you need to leave. It’s not safe for you.”

“What do you mean?” Ron asked. “This is a safe area—”   
“Nowhere is safe!” Draco hissed. “Nowhere! Granger, the Muggles who own this place are hanging in the air in their nightclothes!”   
“Hermione’s a witch.” Harry hissed back.   
Draco scowled. “Harry, do you honestly think they can’t tell the difference between a pureblood and a Muggleborn? Even then, even _we_ are hiding.”

“Astoria, are you alright?” Hermione asked.   
“Mutti ran out there as soon as the screaming began. She told me to head for the forest and then I found Draco.” Astoria said in a quiet voice. “I’m scared, what if she doesn’t come back?”   
“Where’s your father, Malfoy?” Harry asked, just as quietly.

Draco looked pained. “Please, don’t. Please.”   
“He’s out there, isn’t he?!” Ron yelled, gesturing to the burning campsite.  
“Please!” Draco begged. “It’s not… he’s not… he’s my father, Weasley. I know it’s horrible. It sickens me. But I can’t… I’m just as scared as all of you.”   
“You won’t be murdered if they find you.” Hermione huffed.

“He’s my father.” Draco said quietly. “I won’t pretend it’s right, but he’s… he’s family. I’m sorry.”   
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then back at Draco. Astoria was still hugging him tightly.   
“Where’s Ginny and the twins?” Harry asked.   
Ron looked behind them, then paled. “They should be… oh, shite. We’ve got to go back.”

“Ron, no. Listen to me. Ginny and the twins are fine, okay? They’re the purest of the pure, the Death Eaters won’t dare touch them, okay? There aren’t enough Purebloods for total genetic superiority, so the few that exist, they’ll be fine with.” Hermione said soothingly, rubbing his back.    
“They call us blood traitors!” Ron hissed. Draco winced.   
“And that might be worth a stunner or two, but in the end they’d never use an Unforgivable against any of them.” Hermione continued calmly, cupping his face in her hands. “They’ll be okay, Ron.”

“Promise?” He asked quietly.   
“Promise.” Hermione responded.   
“Well, I feel like the third wheel. Or… fifth wheel, in this case.”   
“Damn it Potter, they were having a moment.” Draco huffed. “Must you ruin it? It was very sweet.”

Astoria nodded. “Quite heart-melting.”   
“And diverting from the mayhem behind us.” Draco sniffed.   
A woman screamed a spell behind them, and Astoria turned. “That would be Mutti.”   
“See? She’s okay.” Draco smiled.

“Did she just cast…?” Hermione began.   
Astoria shrugged. “Mutti has been in a very bad mood all evening. Mr. Malfoy tried to talk to her, and then he fled with Draco.”   
“We did not _flee_.” Draco huffed. “Fleeing is undignified.”   
“It looked as though your father would pick you up and sprint away with you tucked under his arm at any given moment.” Astoria replied.

Smiles ghosted across the Gryffindors’ faces.   
A very, very angry Mrs. Greengrass burst into the woods, nearly scaring them all half to death. Swearing hard in a mixture of Swiss German and French, she no longer seemed like a graceful debutante.   
“She lost her wand.” Draco translated to the others. “That’s all I can make out.”   
Madame Greengrass realized who was with her, and composed herself. “It is highly regretful that you had to see me that way, children. Fear not, though. I took at least one of them down before being disarmed.”

Draco paled given how directly she looked at him.   
Astoria grasped his arm to help him steady himself.   
Suddenly, a skull with a snake in its mouth appeared above them. Adalicia stiffened, before huffing. “If that was my wand, I’m going to crush Lucius Malfoy’s skull under my sharpest pair of shoes for maximum pain.”   
Then she looked at the children. “Who are you here with?”   
“Dad and Professor McGonagall.” Ron answered.

Harry felt sick. What if McGonagall didn’t come back? Would he be taken back to the Dursleys?   
“I’m sure they’re fine.” Adalicia said. “The British Ministry will be here soon, because if not, I will have words for them on Monday.”   
Sure enough the crowd began to thin as squadrons of wizards and witches began to move through, stunning everything that moved.

“I found the source of the Dark Mark!” A young Auror with pink hair cried, holding up a wand.   
Adalicia emerged from the forest, the children behind her. “That is my wand.”   
“Ah… alright then. I place you—”   
“Shush one moment. I lost that wand before retreating. These children can corroborate my story.”

The Auror frowned when she saw Draco. “That’s not…”   
“That _is_ sufficient evidence to prove that I did not do it. Frankly, if you ask me, measures beyond the wand should be taken, because every wizard or witch can use a wand, and everyone smarter than a Jarvey knows full well about the ‘Priori Incantatem’ so they won’t get caught with evidence. Furthermore, what if they took their wands with them when they left? Hmm? It’s a terrible way to go about things.”    
  
“Do you have any better ideas?” The Auror snapped.   
“Create a spell that allows you to see the past events in a certain area, like a time turner but without the worry of idiots destroying life as we know it?” Adalicia replied. “Identifying magical handiwork by the magical signature? Are you taking notes?”

“What the devil is going on here?” A new voice demanded.   
“Madame Bones, it’s her wand!” The Auror was so scared that her hair turned white as she pointed to Adalicia. Everyone stared.   
“You’re a metamorphagus!” Astoria said.

The Auror looked somewhat pained. “Well… yes. I am. Nymphadora Tonks, nice to meet all of you. Don’t call me Nymphadora, though.”   
“Tonks… Tonks… where have I heard that name before…?” Draco mused.   
“Trainee Tonks, have you taken her into custody?” Madame Bones asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, Madame Bones. She said she lost her wand prior to the casting of the Dark Mark. She said the children would back her up.”   
“Then the lead is cold.” Madame Bones swept away.   
Adalicia held out her hand expectantly, and the trainee reluctantly dropped the wand in it.

“You see what I mean about back-up measures?” Adalicia asked.   
Trainee Tonks huffed. “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”   
“So how did you do that with your hair?” Harry asked.   
“I’m a metamorphagus, like the kid said. I can just change it, whenever I want.” Tonks shrugged. “Well, my whole appearance, really. I did quite well on the ‘concealment and disguise’ part of the training. Still working on the stealth and tracking bit.”

“Tonks!” Madame Bones snapped. With a grin, and a change to bubblegum pink, Tonks waved goodbye, before hurrying off.   
“Go on, children. Your guardians will be looking for you.” Adalicia said quietly, before grabbing Draco’s shoulder and amending her statement. “ _Not_ you, Malfoy. I intend to have words with your father, and I get the nagging suspicion he’ll avoid me as long as possible in hopes that I’d forget.”

Draco winced, but waved Harry and the others on.   
“I just wish, for once, nothing bad would happen. Like, alright, small things, but not Sir Hiss going on a rampage or Voldemort being a teacher or whatever last year was.” Harry hissed. “Because you _know_ this isn’t isolated.”

“We’ll be ready for him this time.” Ron replied. “We won’t let him hurt you.”   
“That’s right, what chance does Voldemort stand against us?” Hermione grinned.   
Harry smiled wanly. “We’re going to need a _lot_ of allies. Before he can get to them.”   
“I’ll research who did the fighting in the last war.” Hermione replied. “Giants, goblins, the like.”

“I’ll help you make all those friends, gods know you need the help.” Ron laughed.   
“Shove off.” Harry responded, though he laughed too. “Besides, I need you for strategy. You’re great at it.”   
“And _you’re_ pants at it.” Ron snickered.

Laughing and half-planning, the teenagers returned to their guardians, where they were cuddled and cooed over, though Ginny got the most coddling.

The next morning, and the morning after, and every morning until they were on the train, Harry read the Daily Prophet. One reporter in particular seemed to be concerned more with writing sensationalist pieces than actual reporting of the events.

“She makes Mrs. Greengrass seem like a weak fool.” Harry snorted on one occasion.   
“This telling of events is just inaccurate.” He huffed on another.   
He didn’t even bother to read the special feature on the good works of the Malfoy family, sporting a tagline; ‘Paid for by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’.

“Anything from the trolley?” The trolley witch asked.   
“No thank you.” Hermione replied, before pausing. “Ms… what’s your name?”   
“I’ve forgotten.” The trolley witch replied amicably. “It’s been so long… did you know I was appointed by Ottaline Gambol?”   
Hermione nodded slowly. “Yes… fascinating… do you happen to sell the Daily Prophet?”   
“Five sickles.” The trolley witch responded jovially.

Hermione handed over the money, and Harry stared at the Trolley Witch’s retreating form. “What was _that_ about?”   
“Harry, she’s mentally ill, be nice.” Hermione said in hushed tones.   
“Wasn’t Ottaline Gambol headmistress about a hundred years ago?” Ginny asked.   
Hermione shushed her. “While I commend your studying, be _nice_.”

The youngest Weasleys exchanged looks, then shrugged.

The door slid open, and Draco and Astoria stepped in, with Daphne hovering decisively outside for a moment before walking away.   
“Hello Draco, Astoria.” Harry nodded a greeting.  
“Hello, Harry. Weasleys. Granger.”   
“Hi, Ginny!” Astoria’s face lit up. “Oh, and Hermione, Ron and Harry.”

“What are you reading?” Draco asked Harry.   
“Rita Skeeter. I find her ridiculous.” Harry snorted.   
“Mutti is considering suing her for libel.” Astoria agreed. “Don’t tell anyone, she wants to sneak it up on them and have them panic like insects.”

Everyone turned to stare at her.   
“ _Slytherins_.” Ron huffed, as though that explained everything.   
“Never mind Skeeter, she’s not important now. Weasleys, do you know about the special event taking place this year?” Draco asked.

“The play?” Hermione asked.   
“Our victory in Quidditch?” Harry added.   
“The inevitable cataclysmic event reeking of Dark magic trying to harm Harry in some way?” Ginny rolled her eyes.   
“No, no, and no. Weasleys, isn’t your brother assistant to Mr. Crouch? How does he not know?” Draco demanded.

“Percy doesn’t tell us anything unless it has to do with how important he is.” Ron snorted.   
“Tch, Fudge is the same way, but at least I can get information that’s _useful_ from him.” Draco huffed. “Actually, that’s how I know about this—Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament.”   
This did not have the effect he apparently wanted.

“What’s the Triwizard Tournament?” Astoria asked.   
“Oh, thank God. I thought it was just me.” Harry admitted.   
“The Triwizard Tournament is an exceedingly dangerous competition between Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts.” Hermione huffed. “Competitors are known to have died, so in 1792 it was banned. I can’t imagine Professor Stewart would approve such a thing.”

“She didn’t. Dumbledore did, before he left.” Draco sighed. “And _thank you_ , Granger. See? _She_ knows what’s going on.”   
“That’s Hermione. She knows everything.” Harry replied.   
Hermione began pacing. “This is bad. This is very bad. Why would they resurrect it now? Especially on the heels of the attack at the Cup? We need to update our game-plan.”

“What do you mean?” Astoria asked.   
“Isn’t it obvious? Who stands to gain if Harry is somehow entered into the competition then tragically is dinner for a grindylow?” Hermione demanded. “Voldemort, that’s who. With the attack on the Cup, I can’t imagine there isn’t a resurgence building. I must speak to Professor Stewart immediately. And Malfoy?”

“Hmm?”   
“Find Nott, he knows a lot about geneaology. He’ll know if there’s a Potter Harry was named after that could take his place if he _is_ selected.”   
“Henry Potter, my great-grandfather, I think.” Harry said.   
“Really? Excellent. Find out where he’s buried.”

“Hermione, we are _not_ digging up my dead great-grandfather! Besides, I got this information from a talking scroll that was a bit racist.”   
“Well, we’re not burying you.” Ron snorted. “We’ll put him back if we need to. ‘Sides, Hermione’s probably just worrying.”   
“Speaking of Nott, and Zabini, and Parkinson, and the rest, where are they?” Astoria asked Draco.   
“Theo’s sick, he’ll be Flooing up tomorrow.” Draco counted off his fingers. “Blaise’s in the loo, fussing with his hair again, because the train jolted suddenly and sent him flying into Stephens, messing both their hair. Vince and Greg are snogging, likely, and Parkinson is with your sister. I don’t really talk to Parkinson, because she scares me, and she’s _Theo’s_ soulmate.”

“So we’re the last resort?” Ron grinned.   
“You’re _a_ resort.” Draco countered. “That’s something, at least.”   
The rest of the ride to Hogwarts was fairly amicable, unlike the year before. Draco and Astoria also invited themselves to share the carriage with them, though they once again failed to have themselves be booted out.

The real surprise (not Draco Malfoy behaving himself) came at the castle. There was already a myriad of people sitting there. More than there were students, if Harry’s estimates were correct. And there was a lot of pointing. All students who had been there since last year knew him.

“Sit down, sit down, I’ll explain once everyone has been sorted.” Elliot ordered under a Sonorus charm.   
The elder students sat, and soon enough in marched the First years. Harry counted as they went past, then frowned. That was a good deal more First years than usual. And a good deal of them had some sort of strange beauty that was _weird_ in children.

“Are they wearing glamours? That’s nearly criminal.” Ron commented.   
The First Years shot him a dirty look.   
“I was thinking part-Veela.” Harry admitted.   
Draco sighed. “A good deal of them, it may be possible. Did you hear them speak? They’re _Americans_. What are they doing in Hogwarts?”

After all the First Years were sorted, Elliot finally took the stand. “Welcome to another year of Hogwarts, for some of you. Last year, Hogwarts’ numbers were at an all-time low, standing at about 300 students due to a decreased birth rate because of my idiot cousin’s antics. Conversely, Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was nearly bursting at the seams. To remedy both situations, there has been, and will be for some time, a large influx of American transfer students—about 700, in fact, counting the First Year students. Due to this, there are numerous new members of the staff, though it is unlikely that you will talk to most of them. Professors Trelawney and Binns have also been fired—Binns promptly passed on, and I am now under the impression that Professor Trelawney owns a fortune-telling parlor, billing herself as a ‘psychic’, in Muggle Pasadena.”

Elliot shifted slightly, before continuing. “Also, this year, the Triwizard Tournament has been resurrected, and Hogwarts will be hosting it. Numerous new safety measures have been put up, but I must ask you—is fame worth being eaten by a dragon? Is glory the price one pays for being caught in a thestral stampede? Do you really want to test whether the prize money will cushion you for the rest of your life after being mauled by a particularly vicious werewolf? Because all of those did happen. Others will encourage Seventh Years to join, but quite honestly, I know some of you would look before you leap. I do not want to have to bury another student.”

The Americans all looked surprisingly somber, except for the Third Years and down. Professor Lupin looked uncomfortable at the mention of werewolves mauling people. Harry briefly wondered what he was doing back, since there was supposedly a jinx on the job. Perhaps he had a different job.  

“On a lighter note, the school play has also been resurrected, written by two of our students. Please see Miss Hermione Granger or Mr. Theodore Nott, in Fourth Year Gryffindor and Slytherin, respectively, for more details. Furthermore, stay out of the Forbidden Forest if you do not wish to meet a painful and slow death—that’s not even _mentioning_ the basilisk in there, or _Gellert Grindelwald_ —and please behave yourselves around Mr. Filch, lest he have a fit of apoplexy and I am forced to replace another staff member. Any questions?”

A striking blonde girl with pink highlights waved her hand in the air.   
Elliot gave a sigh of long suffering. “Yes, Mary S—apologies, Marianne?”   
“Do we get to keep our wands on us?”   
“Yes.”   
“Even for Hogsmeade visits?”   
“Yes. You will find that North America and the British Isles are vastly different in terms of customs and cultural identity. This goes for Hogwarts’ returning students—kindly be patient with your new classmates.”

Elliot then clapped her hands, and the food appeared on the tables.   
Harry began to eat only to notice that many of the American girls were staring at him –and Draco, oddly enough—and some were even batting their eyes. Sure, some were distracted by Fred and George, but mostly it seemed to center on Draco and him.”   
“It’s a bit creepy.” Ron commented quietly, eating a bit of pork chop.   
“Ron, would you like to do the honors of taste-testing all my food that isn’t a regulated school meal?”

Ron snorted. “What, you think I’d like for one of those girls to slip _me_ a love potion? No thanks, mate.”   
“What if we leave it around the common room for anyone to eat?” Harry asked.   
Ron smirked. “That might work. Particularly if it’s Fred and George.”   
Harry drummed his fingers on the table. “Something tells me those two will get enough of their own. Though…” Harry couldn’t help but notice that the Americans were more interested in Fred. As if they knew something he didn’t.

In Wiltshire, Narcissa was pacing. “Of all the stupid things you could have done…!”   
Lucius sighed, before rising off of the sofa and mixing a drink for himself. “She’s scary.”   
“Who, Bellatrix, or Adalicia Greengrass?” Narcissa snorted. “Because you’ve only dug yourself in deeper with both of them.” Then she fixed her husband with a stern look. “The _point_ of you two going to the World Cup was that it was for Draco. _Not_ for torturing filthy Muggles.”

“Never mind that. What has the Greengrass woman asked in return for her silence?”   
Narcissa’s glare intensified. “Nothing. Lucius, the Greengrass house may have been dying, but she brought her Swiss gold over. They’re the second richest in the country now. That’s richer than Bellatrix, Lucius.”   
“Who’s the richest?”   
“Us, and any price that would be worth anything to them would be a reversal of that position.” Narcissa growled.

“She… didn’t ask anything?”   
“No, which means she intends to _use_ this information! Every scenario in which she would do so is awful, considering the woman is friends with Vittoria Zabini—and you _know_ Zabini doesn’t make friends unless they’re as ruthless as her. In the _best_ scenario, she enters Astoria into the Unsuitable Soulmate Ball.”

“She wouldn’t—everyone knows she’s Draco’s soulmate.”   
“It would be a very bad move for our reputation. It _could_ backfire, but then she talks about what we are. There’s such a thing as being _too_  into Pureblood ideology, Lucius. And it would backfire _greatly_ on Draco if she were to do that.”   
“But it would hurt Astoria—”   
“Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, get your head out of your ass! The girl doesn’t like Draco that much, because she’s _twelve_. She’s still able to cut him off without hurting herself too much. Adalicia would strike at our most vulnerable spot—Draco—and destroy his chances at happiness, one by one.”

Lucius sighed. “I acknowledge your anger, and I apologize.”   
“I apologize too, I spoke rather harshly.” Narcissa sighed, before scowling. “But I’m still furious with you.”   
“There may still be a way to fix this—everyone wants something.”   
Narcissa got up and Lucius pressed a drink into her hand. “Lucius, I’ve spoken to her. She doesn’t want anything from us, except to know that her daughter would be wedded to someone who doesn’t come from a family full of Dark magic.”

“Oh.”   
“Yes, oh. Actually, I’m still pissed. What the hell possessed you to use _her_ wand for the fucking Morsmordre?!” Narcissa snarled.   
“Drink.” Lucius suggested. “And there’s still Peneus.”   
Narcissa tossed back her gin and tonic in one gulp. “Lucius, with all due respect, Peneus won’t do _anything_ to override her. The Dark Lord is not popular in their circles, and you made a mark of war against the entire Greengrass family.”

“I most certainly did _not_. The law of 1564 says that any witch or wizard who is attacked may attack back, through hits to their opponent’s reputation, physique, mental ability, or even in extreme cases family.”   
Narcissa let out a low hiss. “Lucius, the law of 1564 was amended in 1977 to exclude Death Eaters. Adalicia was acting within her rights, Lucius. How are we going to fix this?”   
“With Malfoy charm and wit?”   
“How are you unconcerned about this?” Narcissa demanded. “The future of the Malfoy house is at stake.”   
“Because I know you, and I know you’ll fix this.” Lucius replied breezily, sitting down on the couch. “Though I am also afraid of your temper so I’m going to stay out of the way for a bit.”

Narcissa sighed, and joined him after putting their dirty glasses somewhere out of the way for cleaning. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just… why did you do it? Bellatrix? She would have respected you a hell of a lot more if you had stood up to her. And, Lucius… I don’t want to follow the Dark Lord anymore.”   
“What?”   
“It’s not worth it. It’s not worth feeling unclean after he… it’s not worth losing you, or Draco, to Azkaban or whatever evil he has planned. It’s not worth him. We’re already rich, we’re already powerful, what can the Muggles even do to us? They’re like cattle, Lucius.”

“What if they get in and hurt us?”   
Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Lucius, what could a Muggle do against us? Or even a house-elf?”   
“But the Mudbloods…”   
“Lucius, wizards and witches live a long time. We’re not going to forget the filth is vermin long enough for them to scurry up the ladder. That one Mudblood your father had to depose was a fluke. Besides, if there _is_ a Mudblood worth anything, chances are they’re actually a half-blood.”

“A bit better.” Lucius admitted. “But still, impure.”   
“Not the point. The point is the Dark Lord would _ruin_ us if he were to return.”   
“We can’t oppose the Dark Lord, Narcissa. He’d murder us.”   
“We can’t oppose him _openly_. Small acts of insubordination keeping us safe from him while signaling to the Light that we are not with him. And of course, we’re going to back Harry Potter.”

“A little slip of a boy? Cissy…”  
“Shush, Lucius. The Dark Lord _fears_ him. The boy survives whatever is thrown at him. He walked out of Number 6 Privet Drive without a scratch. Not to mention he’s already Draco’s friend. It’s not too late for us, Lucius.”   
Lucius held her close. “If you say so, Cissy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what Astoria is talking about when it comes to the stereotypes. 
> 
> http://dailycandor.com/what-europeans-think-of-each-other/
> 
> Apparently Switzerland and Austria do not view each other with as much vitriol as I was led to believe by a certain anime. Tragic.


	30. I have no patience for Barty Crouch Jr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not taking a crack at other people's fanfiction, I honestly can't do that without someone slapping me in the face with my old Dramione fics on Wattpad like a rather unripe fish. With one exception-- the fanfiction that everyone makes fun of. Rite of passage over-- time to move on to other references and never talk about Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way ever again. 
> 
> (I also defend my spelling of Alastair over Alastor.)

Harry only noticed the Ministry people the next day. At first he had dismissed them as teachers, considering that Elliot had employed a veritable army of them, and he was preoccupied with the twelve new boys in his dormitory. Most of them were alright, though some seemed a bit starstruck by him. And those same ones seemed to be as interested in Hermione as Harry’s ‘fanclub’ (as dubbed by Hermione) were with him.

Ron had been mildly upset at his lack of a fanclub, though took that back when he saw a) how Draco was treated by his fanclub (he seemed quite confused at the multiple gifts of leather pants, some of which did not even fit him), b) how Astoria was treated by Draco’s fanclub, and c) there was a growing faction that was indeed interested in him.

Harry, Ron, Draco, Hermione, and a growing group of the returning Hogwarts students began to hide in the library, until the shy-and-bookish-yet-still-quite-beautiful-with-a-tragic-story Americans found them.  
Harry then proposed that they hide in the Chamber of Secrets.

“It’s quite wet down here.” Astoria noted.  
“We are going to miss class.” Hermione added.  
“Hermione, those particular Americans will drive us mad.” Ginny pointed out. “Like that Ebony girl.”  
“Her name is Evony.” Draco sighed.

“Really? I could have sworn it was Enoby.” Astoria frowned. “These American names.”  
“Oh, who cares about her name, she keeps trying to pull me into broom closets, and get me to, I quote, ‘put my thingie in her you-know-what’. She would not explain what was happening, at all!”  
“Malfoy, I think she was trying to shag you.” Ron pointed out.  
Draco clutched his chest in shock. “That-that’s improper! I am going to lose my virginity on my _wedding night_ , thank you very much, and certainly not to some mad American bint obsessed with Muggle bands!”

“Muggle bands that shouldn’t exist yet.” Hermione agreed.  
“What’s her class schedule?” Ginny asked. “We should compare it so we can have Theodore and Blaise run interference for us.” Blaise was quite upset that he hadn’t garnered as much attention as Draco. Theodore was perfectly happy as he was, albeit still quite sick.

“I don’t know. I know that she had an altercation with poor Professor Lupin, though.” Astoria noted.  
“He’s not a professor anymore, he’s in charge of admissions.” Hermione huffed.  
“Yeah, now we’ve got Mad-Eye Moody.” Ginny snorted.  
“Appropriate, given everything that’s going on.” Ron pointed out. “Professor Stewart’s taking care of us.”

They were forced to eat their words at dinner. Hermione was scrawling something on a sheet of paper (which turned out to be ideas for her house-elf welfare society) and Harry was eating when Ron and Draco started teasing each other gently. While Harry recognized it was far less harmful than it usually would have been, he did notice a few sore points.

“Draco, stop.” He said.  
Draco looked back at him, but apparently believed it was all part of the game. “So Weasley, are you all too poor to buy a new hair color?”  
“Draco, _stop_.” Harry repeated.  
“Harry I’m bonding with the Gryff—” Draco was unable to finish that sentence, as Moody sneaked up behind him and turned him into a ferret.

Everyone stared at the Draco-ferret in horror for a moment, before he began to be levitated up and down.  
Harry, disconcertingly, immediately began to think of Draco’s fangirls’ reactions to him like this.  
But no one said, or did, anything.

“Alastair Michael Moody!” Except McGonagall, who was now hustling towards them, skirts hiked up and Hector Dagworth-Smith on her heels.  
Moody was so shocked he nearly dropped the Draco-ferret. “Minerva, I—”  
“What on God’s green Earth are you _doing_?!”  
“I thought a sharp shock to his system would scare the boy straight. He was teasing the Weasley boy.”  
“If there was a problem with one of my house members, it should have been brought to _my_ attention.” Professor Dagworth-Granger growled. “You are _not_ to harm my students in any way.”

“Believe me Alastair, the boy has been far from his most vicious for a long time.” McGonagall snapped. “And even if he wasn’t, it would not excuse your behavior.” Professor Dagworth-Granger chimed in.  
Harry could have sworn Moody looked at him for assistance.  
“He’s the son of—”  
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Alastair. We do _not_ judge students by their parents.” McGonagall waved her wand and a very confused, yet highly human Draco was on the seat instead of a ferret.

“How are you, Mr. Malfoy? Would you like some tea?” Professor Dagworth-Granger offered.  
“No, I’m fine…” Draco said somewhat faintly. “I think I need an owl though.”  
“An owl?” Ron asked.  
“I need to contact Mother.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Malfoy. I will do so.” Professor Dagworth-Granger huffed. “ _Come_ , Moody. We’re going to see what Professor Stewart has to say about you.”  
And thus Moody was dragged off to see Professor Stewart, who was absolutely swamped with paperwork and thus could not usually get down to dinner.

“Minerva, Hector. To what do I owe this surprise?” Elliot asked with a brief glance up to see her guests.  
“He transfigured a student—my student!—into a ferret!” Professor Dagworth-Granger hissed.  
Elliot finally looked away from her paperwork, making eye contact with the Defense Professor. “Did he now.”  
“The boy needed to be scared straight sometime, or he’ll turn out like his father.” Moody growled.

Elliot quirked an eyebrow. “That does not mean that you have permission to turn all students with Dark families into ferrets, Moody. If I catch you doing something like this again, I will fire you, do you understand?”  
“Clear as crystal.” Moody growled.  
“Now do you want to be here for Narcissa Malfoy, or do you want me to have taken care of it?”  
“I don’t want to be here.” Moody said immediately.

Elliot wrote something down on a piece of paper, then looked up. “You’re still here? Hector, can you please escort him back to his chambers?”  
“Yes, Headmistress.”  
“You’re just letting him off?” McGonagall asked, scandalized.  
Elliot looked up again. “What would you have me do instead?”

“Fire him, suspend him, give him a much firmer scolding at least!”  
Elliot tapped her fingers on her desk. “I want to, believe me, I want to. But we haven’t found a replacement for him yet, and it would be hard since the school year has already started. I suppose I could get Remus to do it, but he has his own job now. As for suspension, if I suspend him, I can’t fire him later—the blows it would deal my reputation would mean that we never get a qualified Defense teacher here during my tenure. And I didn’t talk to him because now I’m paying a lot more attention to him than I was before, and he knows it. And that’s scarier than anything I could say. Besides, between you and Hector, I’m sure his ears are ringing, and I wasn’t there anyway.”

“I’m beginning to think that Alastair was not as suited to this job as I originally thought.” McGonagall huffed.  
“As am I. Perhaps if we fire him in a particularly spectacular way, the Ministry will give us a satisfactory replacement.”  
“They might think it’s the curse.”  
Elliot smirked. “But my cousin never placed a jinx on the job of Defense Teacher for years 4-5.”

The next day, when the fourth year Gryffindors and Slytherins had their Defense lesson together, for the first time without the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, Moody was prowling about, waiting for them.  
“Sit down separately, we don’t want a repeat of yesterday, do we Malfoy?”  
Draco frowned, but obediently sat on the other side of the room with the other Slytherins.

“Now, today we will be learning about the three Unforgivables. What are they?”  
Hermione raised her hand.  
“Granger?”  
“The Cruciatus curse, which inflicts pain, the Imperius curse, which has one control another person, and the Killing Curse, which cannot be defended against, and kills instantly, unlike other curses.”

“Good! Shown up by a Gryffindor, are you?” Moody pointed his wand at the Slytherins. Most of them stiffened, and Draco was shot a few looks.  
He raised an eyebrow, nearly daring Moody to touch him.  
“What is he doing?” Ron hissed to Harry.  
“I don’t know, he’s Draco, who knows what he’s thinking?” Harry hissed back.

Moody turned on his heel and returned to his desk, pulling a spider out of a jar.  
Ron paled.  
“Now, as Miss Granger said… the Cruciatus curse. _Crucio_!” A bolt of light shot into the spider. Harry swore he could hear it scream. Neville looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Of course, then the wards activated and an alarm sounded.  
This did not seem to bother Moody. “The Imperious curse. _Imperio_!” The spider stopped writhing, and instead began following the movements of Moody’s wand. It danced a grateful minuet to the tune of two separate sirens.  
“And the Killing Curse… which Miss Granger forgot to mention… only has one survivor.” Moody said quietly, before the spider ambled over to him. “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

Harry’s mouth was a thin line.  
A third siren began shrieking, and most of the returning students remembered it from last year, when they’d been in the middle of a quiet Saturday when it began shrieking. Several looks were exchanged—someone used an Unforgivable— _that_ Unforgivable—in their school?

Moody then strode over to the door and locked it using several spells, then proceeded to conjure enormous steel cabinets out of thin air and bits of chalk to barricade the door.  
Harry exchanged looks with all his friends.  
“Pair up, snake to snake, lion to lion, and practice resisting the Imperious Curse.”  
Those with Dark families exchanged nervous looks. If the record of the spell was found on their wands, their families would lose everything. _They’d_ lose everything.

Harry stood. “Why did you barricade the doors?”  
“So Professor Stewart doesn’t come in.”  
“So you know she disapproves. I don’t think you got her permission.”

Moody looked taken aback for a moment, before he became calculating. “Mr. Potter, are you saying you’d like to volunteer?”  
Massive thuds were heard from outside.  
“Yes.” Harry said, deciding to stall.

“Very well. _Imperio_!”  
Harry felt as though every worry was gone, as though he was floating through the air.  
_How are we floating without a broom?_ A small voice asked inside of him.  
_Shut up_. Harry told the voice.  
_We’re being Imperio’d, where is Professor Stewart?_  
_Shut up!_ Harry repeated more intently. The fuzzy feeling was starting to clear. The little voice seemed to be gloating.

 _How am I a different person, eh, Potter?_  
_SHUT UP._  
Oh no no no. I’m not even doing anything. I make acknowledgments like this all the time. You know how to block me out. You’re talking to me on purpose, aren’t you? The voice asked.  
“Shut up!” Harry yelled.

Everyone was staring at him.  
He cleared his throat. “So. Those sirens are quite annoying, aren’t they?”  
“You threw it off.” Theodore breathed. Actually, it sounded more like, ‘you drew id awwf.’ Apparently he still wasn’t over that cold yet.  
“See if the rest of you can do it as well as Potter did. And Potter? 10 points to Gryffindor.”

It sounded as though there was an explosion on the other side of the door. The cabinets barely moved.  
“Oh, _fudge_.” Elliot snapped quite clearly.  
“Quickly now.” Moody snapped. “Or else I’ll stick you all in detention.”  
Quickly, the students raced to find partners. But not too quickly—no one wanted to do _that_ now.

Moody glared at a few students, and they grabbed partners immediately.  
“Rubeus, do you mind?” Elliot asked behind the barricade.  
“With pleasure.” Hagrid growled.  
The half-giant knocked the steel cabinets over and Elliot jumped over them, landing nimbly on her feet. “Moody, you and I are going to have a little talk.” She growled.  
“No, we are not. My master entrusted me with this task, and _you_ won’t ruin it.” Moody snarled.

Elliot glared at him for a moment, before straightening. “You work for my cousin.”  
“Refer to the Dark Lord with respect, wench!”  
“Rubeus, would you mind grabbing him?” Elliot continued calmly. “I have some questions for him that would be better answered if he wasn’t running about with a wand in his hand.”

“With pleasure, professor.” Hagrid did _not_ like this man threatening the students, especially little Harry. He did _not_ like the continuous sirens which were scaring his poor little Blast-Ended Skrewts. He did, however, like Professor Stewart, who came and talked to him and traded stories with him over magical creatures and took him seriously. Admittedly, he’d been a bit worried when she came into the school and started firing and replacing teachers, but now she had a place right next to Dumbledore in his large heart.

Hector Dagworth-Granger, who Hagrid also liked (much more than Snape), darted forward and managed to get Moody to swallow a few drops of what looked like water.  
“What’s your name?” Elliot demanded.  
“Bartemius Tristane Crouch Junior.” Moody replied.

Elliot looked at Hector, who shrugged. “It’s as reliable as a Muggle polygraph test. If he truly believes he’s Barty Crouch Jr., he’ll say it.”  
“Fine. What are you doing at Hogwarts?”  
“My mission.”  
“What’s your mission?”

“Destroy Harry Potter.”  
“Can you be more specific.”  
“Yes I can.” Moody gave a very sharp grin.  
Elliot tapped her foot, annoyed, before noticing the children around her, and the alarm still blaring. “You all get a free period for the day— _after_ you are cleared for checkout by Madame Pomfrey. Scoot.”

Disappointed, the children wandered off as she turned off the alarm.  
“What, specifically, did Lord Voldemort tell you to do?”  
“Our Lord didn’t tell me to do anything.” Moody still had that grin.  
“Who gave you your mission?”  
“Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange.”

“Do you know where they are now?”  
“No.”  
“Do you know where Lord Voldemort is?”  
“No.”  
“Do the Lestrange brothers and Bellatrix Lestrange know where Lord Voldemort is?”  
Moody suddenly became shifty-eyed. “Yes.”

“What did the Lestrange brothers and Bellatrix Lestrange tell you to do?”  
“To try and enter Harry Potter into the tournament.” Moody replied.  
“Why?”  
“Why what?”

Elliot’s eye began to twitch. “Why did the Lestranges want you to enter Harry Potter into the tournament?”  
“So he’d either die or be taken to where Our Lord would be reborn.”  
“Where is that?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“How would Lord Voldemort be reborn?”  
“The Resurrection Potion.” Moody replied sullenly.

“If you’re Barty Crouch Jr., where’s the real Alastair Moody?” Hagrid asked suddenly.  
“In my trunk.”  
“Have you been using Polyjuice?” Hector huffed.  
“Yes.”

“Good questions. How did you escape Azkaban after your trial?”  
“My father broke me out. My mother took my place, she couldn’t bear to see me there. I spent the last thirteen years under her polyjuiced form, and an imperious.”  
“How did you escape?” Elliot breathed.  
“Why is he answering this more freely…?” Hector mused quietly.  
“Father was distracted at the World Cup when the Lestranges came through.”

“Who cast the Dark Mark?” Elliot asked.  
“I did.” The grin was back. “Everyone thinks Malfoy did it, but that woman knocked him out cold. Bellatrix burned her, so she dropped her wand.”  
“Why are you volunteering this information so freely?” Hector asked again, more loudly.  
“I’m under Veritaserum.”

“Yes, but you were answering _these_ questions a lot more willingly than before. Why?”  
Crouch/Moody smirked. “Because I like these questions. You don’t judge me anymore, you judge _him_.”  
“Believe me, we still judge you.” Elliot snorted. “Hector, go call the Aurors. Rubeus, help me put him into a chair.”  
Hagrid complied, and Elliot immobilized Crouch/Moody several different ways—she tied him to the chair, she petrified him, she took his wand and silenced him, and she stuck him to the chair and stuck the chair to the floor.

“Interesting method.” Hagrid noted.  
“Thank you. Let’s go get the real Moody—I may not have to replace another professor.”  
“He could be addled.” Hagrid whispered conspiratorially. “The one in the chair, I mean. He might not be telling the truth as it would be to us.”  
“I suspect he is, in some respects, addled.” Elliot agreed. “But I also don’t think he came up with this on his own. I fear my cousin will return.”  
“How?”  
“Dumbledore has a theory. According to him, he and Grindelwald are collecting items imbued with my cousin’s soul.” Elliot took a deep breath before continuing. “He believes Harry Potter is one of those items.”

“No, not little Harry!”  
Elliot nodded. “By the way, Rubeus, while this isn’t exactly a secret, you can tell others about the imbued items. The more people out there looking for them, the better. Just please keep the part about Harry Potter secret, for his sake.”  
“I will.” Hagrid agreed.  
Elliot flipped the switches on the trunk, before opening it and peering down. “Alright down there, Mr. Moody?”  
“The son of a bitch took my eye and my leg! The bastard tried to _imperio_ me! Let me out of here so I can wring his neck myself!”  
Elliot looked at Hagrid.

“That seems a lot like Mad-Eye Moody, right.” Hagrid agreed.    
Elliot conjured a rope. “We’ll pull you up.”  
“Where’s Crouch?” Moody demanded upon exiting the trunk.  
“He’s tied to a chair, petrified, under Veritaserum, unable to use magic, and everything is stuck.” Elliot remarked drily. “I’m hardly about to let a madman run about the castle after using all three Unforgivables, one actually used on a student.”

Moody nodded once. “You had witnesses?”  
“Hagrid, and Dagworth-Granger.”  
“Dagworth-Granger’s credible.” Moody tilted his head appraisingly. “Ministry might throw Hagrid’s testimony out, but Dagworth-Granger is both neutral and has a long Pureblood lineage. The perfect witness.”  
Elliot clicked her tongue. “You’ll want to deal with Crouch yourself then?”  
“After the Polyjuice wears off and I can get my eye and leg back. …ah, what the hell. Can you get them for me? It requires a bit more delicacy than Hagrid could do, no offense meant.”  
“None taken.” Hagrid replied amicably.  

“Of course.” Elliot disappeared into the classroom below.  
“That’s Dumbledore’s replacement?”  
“Don’t you go speaking ill of Professor Stewart now. She cares quite a lot for the safety of her students. She bullied Gringotts into fixing the wards.”  
“The goblins?”  
“Well, they’re creatures, ain’t they? She used to teach ‘Care of Magical Creatures’ at the American school. Besides, I think she could very well bully anyone into doing her bidding if it meant keeping the kids safe.”  
“Hmm.” Was all Moody said.

He was soon teaching properly. While he didn’t actually use any Unforgivables on the children, they were quick to notice that he was as strict as Crouch had been. (Though there were no more transfiguration incidents, which Draco was very glad about.)

Respite from lessons came from the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang schools. The castle, which had undergone remodeling during the summer, was quickly going through it again to accommodate and impress their visitors. Hermione’s group for house-elf welfare, which was mostly comprised of Americans, was vaguely appalled at the treatment of the creatures, namely how hard they were being worked in preparation.

Harry and Ron had also been pressed into meetings, and judging by their expressions, Blaise, Theodore and Draco had been kidnapped.  
“House-elves are happy.” Draco pointed out. “Why do you insist on taking that away from them?”  
“Stockholm Syndrome, Malfoy.” Hermione hissed. “Although, you may remember Dobby.”  
“Dobby was an anomaly.” Blaise brushed it off. “I always thought he was odd, whenever I’d visit Draco.”  
“Was Frederick Douglas an anomaly?” An American growled. “Was Robert Smalls?”

Theodore looked appalled. “Bleashe do nod drag real beoble indo dish messh. Houshelbes do’d eben hab Being Shatush.”  
“Theodore, please go blow your nose, then repeat yourself.” Harry said.  
“Sorry. I said, ‘please do not drag real people into this mess. House-elves don’t even have Being Status.’ And I’m fairly certain they don’t actually have Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Alright Nott, tell me this; what do house-elves get in return for their servitude? You two can’t chime in, you’re going to say something like ‘proximity to me’.” Hermione pointed out.  
“Well, now you’re just being rude.” Blaise huffed. “I even supported your little club.”  
“Maybe we’ll have fundraiser balls.” Draco pointed out.

“Ooh, I love those!”  
Theodore blew his nose again. “They get shelter, food, stability, Granger. They couldn’t survive on their own.”  
Hermione leaned forward. “We’re not asking that you release them, Nott. We’re asking that you pay them living wages, and give them holidays. And for the record, they _do_ have Being status. Besides, with your bank numbers, paying house-elves a few galleons and generally not treating them like shit should be enough.”

“How do you know my bank numbers? Goblins are notorious for their discretion. Even _I_ don’t have my current bank numbers.” Theodore huffed, before giving an enormous snort.  
“Because goblins are tired of human oppression too, Nott.” An American piped up. “Besides, Hermione got all the numbers herself.”  
“Theodore, did you ask how she got them?” Draco asked.

“In a fashion. She didn’t answer yet, besides a side note about goblins.”  
“Ask better. Granger, do you have mine?” Draco asked.  
“I have the bank statements of every Pureblood in Great Britain and Northern Ireland… Harry, Ron, what are you two doing?”

“Working on our homework.” Harry replied.  
“Don’t want to be turned into ferrets, now do we Malfoy?” Ron gave a nasty grin.  
Draco narrowed his eyes. “Low blow, Weasley. Low blow. Although, I imagine we’d be turned into something else now, keep it fresh. You might be a weasel, fitting.”

“Weasels don’t come in red.” Blaise pointed out.  
“Yes they do. Oh, alright, it’s more of a russet colour, but I know what I’m talking about.” Draco replied flippantly.  
Hermione huffed. “Hello, I have your bank statements?”  
“Yes, how did you get those?” Draco asked, snapping out of the weasel-conversation with Blaise.

“Because they release bank statements for family members.” Hermione pointed out.  
“And?” Theodore continued. “You’re not.”  
Hermione smirked. “I’m not the first Hermione Granger.”  
“Oh no.” Draco’s hand covered his mouth.

“Oh no? Why oh no? Is this like the 'lovely day' thing again, because that was amazing.” Blaise snickered.  
“Oh no, because all Purebloods in England are related, usually through the Black family. My great-grandmother is a Pureblood, as was my grandfather, even if he was a Squib. Sure, the Granger family has mostly died out in Pureblood circles, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have bank statements.”

“Oh, she’s good.” Ron noted.  
A funny look came over Harry’s face. “Does that mean you and Ron…?”  
“Don’t be absurd Harry, we’re twenty-seventh cousins three times removed.” Hermione said briskly. “Perfectly acceptable, especially when you look at… well, anyone in Draco’s family tree. The Blacks have permeated every layer of British Pureblooded society, even Ron’s grandmother is a Black. And _their_ family tree is exceedingly tangled.”

“Granny’s not like _them_.” Ron waved a hand at the Slytherins.  
“Rude.” Blaise huffed. “Treat your captives with better respect, Weasley.”  
“You’re bloody captives!”  
“Gentlemen, the Slytherins are not captives. They are not being extorted, as much as I considered the possibility.” Hermione flipped through the bank statements purposefully, making eye contact with Theodore. “We are here to discuss the plight of the elves. And now that everyone here has pledged their full-support, we can go into phase—”

“Ron, what’s the best way to distract an assailant?” Harry asked suddenly.  
“Feinting.”  
“Fainting?”  
“No, with an e. Catches them off-guard without sacrificing anything in battle.”

“Thanks mate.”  
“Anytime.”  
Hermione sighed. “And I suppose that concludes the first meeting of SPEW. See you all back here next week.”

The Americans (and Slytherins) began to filter out, and Hermione sighed again. “Can you two _please_ take this more seriously?”  
“We don’t really want to be here.” Ron pointed out. “The elves are happy.”  
“I’m staying out of it.” Harry said staunchly.

Ron raised an eyebrow at him, and Harry looked up. “What? When the twins had me cornered last year, you suddenly became interested in the ceiling.”  
“Ginny was on your side!”  
“Well, Hermione is scarier.”

Hermione gave a shrill whistle. “Not the point. I was relying on both of you for help, and you kind of let me down.”  
“SPEW is, quite frankly, stupid.” Ron huffed. “We’re your friends, that doesn’t mean we have to agree with everything."  
Harry gave a whistle of awe. “Go hard or go home.”

“Then why did you even come?” Hermione hissed.  
Ron huffed. “You dragged us here! You badgered us until we did!”  
“I believe in this, Ronald Weasley, and I’ll fight for it, no matter how stupid you think it is!”

Harry turned over his piece of parchment. “You know, I wonder what you two would say if I wasn’t here.”  
“Shut up, Harry!” Both Hermione and Ron yelled in unison.  
“Ooh, touchy. No yelling at the orphan, I’m fragile.”

“All I’m saying is, I’m not going to support SPEW.” Ron huffed.  
“Oh, don’t twist this like I’m the unreasonable one. You’re not supporting _me_ without duress. You won’t even give the house-elves, and by extension, me, a chance!”  
“I give you chances! I gave you a chance after the huge fight we had last year!”

Harry gathered up his tools, before pausing at the door and locking it behind him. “This is for your own good.”  
“Harry, what did you do?!” Hermione demanded.  
“I don’t want to get caught between you two again. Work it out.” Harry commanded. “Or, you know, you two could stop projecting your expectations onto each other, and see each other as the people you are. Sure, you won’t always agree, but it might be a bit easier.”

“That was… really thoughtful, Harry.”  
“Nah, I just heard it on a rubbish telly programme before my cousin switched the channel.” Harry grinned. “But seriously, you two can’t come out until you make peace this time. I call this method, ‘putting me at a safe distance and forcing confrontation’. I’m sure it will make my career as a rubbish telly marriage doctor, should I want to be one.” 

“Harry, open the door.” Ron said.  
“Not until you two make peace.”  
Hermione sighed quite loudly. “We’re teenagers, we don’t need to have it all worked out!”  
“Not breaking into explosive fights would be a good start.”

There was a banging on the door. “Harry!”  
“It’s the counterspell to ‘alohomora’, and the better locking charm Flitwick showed us last class.” Harry said, before realization dawned. “Oh dear.”  
“Harry James Potter!”  
“I’m going to go get help, stay there and make up!”

“This is why Potter’s not in Ravenclaw.” Blaise observed from around the corner.  
“Or Slytherin.” Draco added, before handing Theodore a handkerchief.  
“Let’s go, the other schools will be here soon.” Theodore pointed out after blowing his nose. He offered the handkerchief back to Draco, who made a face. “Keep it. It’s a… it’s a gift.”

“A gift of snot.” Blaise agreed.  
In the room, Ron sighed. “I do want to support _you_. I just don’t care about the _house-elves_. You’re not always right, Hermione. This is one of those times—they’re happy as they are.”  
Hermione fidgeted. “Ron, remember what I said last year, about slavery?”  
“Ye—oh gods. That’s why you’re taking this so seriously.”

“It’s also why so many Americans are involved. And the house-elves are treated deplorably. They’re probably kicked around by the Malfoys and the Notts and whoever.”  
“Yeah, but they actually do like being in this position. It helps their dignity, or whatever, to help great and noble houses when no one else could.”  
“They punish themselves for the smallest of infractions.”

“Right, and maybe you could focus more on _that_ instead of freedom for all house-elves?”  
“We’re focusing on getting them living wages. If you have money, you can leave a life of servitude and support yourself for a bit.”  
“…you know, I think you should lead with that bit rather than the bank statement.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah, it might be a bit threatening otherwise?”

The door slowly swung open to reveal Elliot and Harry.  
“In the future, please don’t lock your friends up.” Elliot told him.  
Harry grinned awkwardly. “I’ll try, ma’am.”  
“You three had better get to the lines, the other schools are nearly here.”

The three children skittered down the hall, and joined the lines in the Great Hall. For the first time in a long time, the Houses were once again separate.  
“Where were you?” Ginny asked.  
“Long story.” Harry replied.  
“SPEW meeting.” Ron added.  
“And we got locked in.” Hermione shot Harry a pointed look.

“Like I said, long story.”  
The children began to march out to the lawn, where a bird was flying high above them. Harry expected it to dart off to the owlery, but it began to circle above them, growing larger and larger. Harry then realized two things; 1) that the thing circling them was much farther away than he had originally thought and much larger, and 2) that the thing was most definitely not a bird.

The thing, now identified as an enormous carriage drawn by winged horses, soon landed with a thump on the lawn. The attention of the Hogwarts students was then drawn to the lake, where an enormous ship surfaced and began to move towards the castle, only to stop.  
Elliot cocked her head. “Something dark is on that ship.”  
“How do you know?” Minerva asked her.

“Because the wards are keeping it out.” Elliot replied easily. “Everything dark needs my permission to get in.”  
“How’d Crouch get in, then?” Moody demanded, coming up on her other side.  
“He had my permission, because he said that in all his life, he had done some rather nasty things that activated the wards around him. I looked up your record, Mr. Moody. It seemed to corroborate.”

“Why not call me by my given name like you call the rest of the teachers?” Moody demanded.  
Elliot smiled. “Alright, Alastair.” She then disappeared with a _pop_ , and the Headmistress of Beauxbatons (who was as tall as Hagrid) looked a bit alarmed.  
“I thought no one could Apparate in and out of Hogwarts?”  
“With the exception of the Headmistress or Headmaster.” Minerva explained. “Let us wait for my colleague and the students of Durmstrang before we continue to the opening ceremony.”  
She then proceeded to nudge Moody. “She’s single, by the way, Alastair.”

“Of all the—Minerva, I am not interested in…!”  
“Alastair, I have 3 nieces, and 4 nephews, who have a combined 15 children between them. I have been in love twice myself. I know what interest looks like, and I encourage both of you.”  
“I am not in love with Professor Stewart!”

“Do not worry, Alastair. We have the French here now, and they’re experts on the matter if they’re too be believed.”  
“ _Minerva_.”  
“Her soulmate left her, poor dear. Well, they divorced, but he is an American, and likely to stay there.”

“Untrue, David is a Canadian.” Elliot said right next to her as the Durmstrang ship began to move again.  
“Lord Jesus high in Heaven, you scared me!” Minerva jumped.  
“You were gossiping about me.”  
“I wasn’t _gossiping_. I was simply informing Alastair that—”

“Some subjects shouldn’t be broached with you.” Moody interrupted. All of the Gryffindors were now watching this, as well as some Ravenclaws and Slytherins, as well as most of the Hufflepuffs and Beauxbatons students.  
Elliot watched them both for a moment before turning back to watch the Durmstrang ship. “Right. Thanks.”

“What happened?” Moody asked.  
“Karkaroff is a Death Eater. I made him swear an Unbreakable Vow.” Elliot replied nonchalantly. The Durmstrang ship dropped anchor and a gangplank landed on the lake edge with a _thunk_. In pairs, Durmstrang students marched off.  
“That’s Krum!” Ron whispered excitedly.

Astoria, apparently the only one to love Krum as much as he did, nodded excitedly. “Do you think he’ll sign an autograph for us?”  
“All in good time.” Hermione told them. “Let everyone sit down first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Generally, I don't like to ship OCs with actual characters. Before that happens, I will actively search out characters for them to be paired up with. Such as Tonks-- she's now paired up with Alicia Spinnet, in case I don't mention it. However, Moody and Elliot MIGHT work. Opinions? 
> 
> (Also yes, in Chapter 15 of Goblet of Fire, Crouch DID try to have the students resist the Imperious and Harry DID throw it off more easily than the rest. Probably not because of Voldemort.)


	31. In Which Hufflepuffs will chase you about until you get the references

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know full-well that Quidditch was canceled in the 1994-1995 school year for the tournament. 
> 
> That's stupid, and I don't write Quidditch scenes anyway.

“Now that we have all consumed this delicious feast, it’s time to get down to business.” Elliot rapped her wand on the podium, drawing the attention of the students. She tapped it again, and the podium descended, only to be replaced with a jeweled casket, which opened to reveal a plain wooden goblet, albeit a large one.

“You have chosen… wisely.” One of the Hufflepuffs said.  
“Shh.” Another hissed.  
“Each of the schools will have a Champion, chosen by this Goblet. The proceedings will take place tomorrow, and I must warn you, only Seventh Years may join.”

“Or what?” Fred and George called in unison.  
Elliot rolled her eyes. “Or else you shall be turned into old men and sent to live in the Forbidden Forest like the other old men.”  
“With that, let us drop our names into the goblet if we wish to enter.” Madame Olympe, Headmistress of Beauxbatons said in a very French accent. Harry suddenly remembered the time Nearly Headless Nick had been on the battlements insulting students (“your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!”) and ‘being French’ (“can’t you tell by my outrageous accent?”). Actually the Goblet may have been why he told one of the Ravenclaws they already had the Holy Grail.

Nonetheless, Beauxbatons students began flitting forward to put their names in the Goblets, and Durmstrang followed. Harry was honestly surprised that they were so eager, weren’t they afraid of dying? Harry noticed a few Hogwarts students step forward, but mostly hung back.

Elliot clapped her hands. “Off to bed with you.”  
Harry was about to leave when he saw Karkaroff staring at him for quite a long time, a nasty expression on his face. Harry stuck his tongue out, _then_ scurried off.

“Did you see some of those Beauxbatons girls?” An American Gryffindor sighed once they were all tucked up in bed.  
“Yeah, but did you see the Durmstrang girls?” Another countered. “Almost as hot as the Durmstrang boys, in my opinion.”  
“I’m completely aromantic and asexual, not to mention tired, so shut up.” Yet another sighed dreamily.

The next day, no one had classes, as they were all still waiting to see the results of the Cup at dinner. What they _did_ have, was Quidditch tryouts, with Slytherin going last.  
“My name is Astoria Greengrass.” Two hours before tryouts, Astoria had tracked down Viktor Krum, and was now shoving her hand in his face for him to shake.

“Ah… little girl…”  
“I am twelve years old, sir. My cousin by marriage is your teammate Vasily Dimitrov.” Astoria withdrew her hand once Krum had awkwardly shook it.   
“Oh, you’re related to Miss Gretel?” Krum perked up considerably.   
“Yes, she is my mother’s niece. Nonetheless, do you have any tips or tricks for flying, at all? Especially to stand out?”

“What’s the most complicated move that you can handle?”  
“A Chelmondiston Charge.”  
“Really? That’s quite an accomplishment for one so young.”  
“Mutti has had me on a broom since before I could walk. She was determined not to have me turn out like my sister, she rather hates the game.”

“Tch, there’s always one, isn’t there? What model do you have?”  
“Firebolt 1.0.”  
“You’re definitely one of Gretel’s relatives then. I imagine the rest are stuck at a Finbourgh Flick—you’ll do well with a Dionysus Dive, though. That’s actually how Vasily made the team.”

“Really? Thank you, Mr. Krum.”  
“You may call me Viktor.”  
Astoria nodded solemnly. “Erm… can you sign this? Please?” She thrust a poster of himself at him.

“I remember this one… why must it always have the winking…?” Viktor muttered, signing it hastily. “At least it’s not… there it goes, blowing kisses again.”  
“Thank you very much, Mr. Krum! I’ll do my best.” Astoria smiled, before racing off.

Daphne, however, was highly annoyed. She hated Quidditch, she hated heights, and she hated the cold.  
Sue snuggled up against her. “Wow, Cho is such a great flier!”  
“Mm. She and Diggory will probably have babies born on broomsticks.”  
Sue made a face. “That sounds uncomfortable.”

The girls giggled together, and Daphne laced their fingers together. “What do you think of all this Tournament nonsense?”  
“I’ve been wondering what would happen if the perfect candidate didn’t apply. What if _no one_ applied?” Sue said.  
“I’ve been wondering how to get around the age ring.” Daphne revealed.

Sue glared daggers at Daphne. “Absolutely not, what if it chose you?!”  
“No, I meant it more as a ‘what if I could’? Professor Stewart has had Professor Moody guarding the thing day and night though. Nothing gets past him.”

Sue smirked. “Did you hear what McGonagall said yesterday to Moody?”  
“McGonagall says many things, why?” Daphne asked warily.  
“I think Professor Moody fancies Professor Stewart.” Sue squealed.  
“You make it sound as though we’re Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown.” Daphne replied. “We don’t squeal.”

“Oh, hush. They’re sweet. Think of it, they’re both so strong to think that they would never need anyone, but they’re desperately lonely.” Sue sighed dreamily.  
“You’re much more of a romantic than I had thought.” Daphne replied, amused.  
“Oh, shut it.”  
“Are you going to read those soppy Muggle stories where the girl is some sort of heiress and then she marries this devilishly handsome boy—points if he’s a playboy who becomes desperately in love with her, or if he has a secret and dark past that makes him brood all the time as though he’s some sort of Gothic poet—and they can hardly contain their passions and in the end they marry and all is well?” Daphne gently teased.

Sue blinked rather rapidly. “What a convoluted way to say ‘romance novel’. Of course I read them. They’re dreadfully interesting and delicious, and you got it rather spot on for someone who doesn’t read them.”  
Daphne flushed. “Oh look, there’s ‘Storia on the pitch. Let’s wave.”

Both of them waved furiously, and got a tiny wave back in return.  
Daphne narrowed her eyes. “Is she embarrassed of me?”  
“I think she’s just busy, love.”  
On the pitch, Pucey raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you Malfoy’s soulmate?”  
Astoria ignored Draco waving, and he intensified, only to knock into Pucey.

“I promise he won’t distract me.” Astoria said coolly.   
Pucey crossed their arms. “It’s not a matter of you being distracted, the other two could pick up the slack.  It’s a matter of _him_ being distracted. Potter might be due for a broom upgrade, seeing how his godfather’s a Black, and then we lose one of our only advantages over him.”

“Hey, are you implying I can’t keep pace with him?” Draco asked.  
Pucey tutted. “Malfoy, the kid flew into a Wronski Feint his first flying lesson.”  
“Wronski Feint needs both seekers.” Draco huffed.  
“And I vastly admire how you managed to not get as banged up as Lynch, but you understand my point.”

“I was under the impression he wouldn’t be distracted by me.” Astoria huffed.  
Pucey gave Malfoy a warning look, before nodding. “Alright. Greengrass, Hilton and Powell against Christiansen, Silke, and Jung. You’re all trying out for Chaser, right? I’ll play Keeper this time around, it’ll give me the ability to see what you’re doing.”

“You’re a shit Keeper.” Draco snorted.  
Pucey tutted once more, before pointing towards Daphne and Sue. “Go hang out with Scary Greengrass and her Ravenclaw.”  
“My sister isn’t scary.” Astoria pointed out.

The American Slytherins looked at each other, then stepped away from her.  
“Regardless. Mount up.” Pucey ordered, before kicking off themselves.

The Chasers kicked off after that, and the Quaffle was released by the gofer. Powell quickly grabbed it, only to be blatched by Silke. Christiansen rescued it, and made a run for the Quaffle.  
Astoria whistled. “Hilton, with me!”  
The two pursued Christiansen across the pitch, and Jung retrieved the ball. Powell flew in front of them, causing another blatching. Hilton retrieved the ball though, and performed a perfect Finborough Flick with it.

Astoria bit her lip, as Pucey called, “Time!”

All the chasers retreated to the ground, and Pucey began pacing. “Right, Silke, Powell, you’re out. You four? One on one. Greengrass, you first.”  
Pucey soared back up, and Astoria followed. The gofer released the Quaffle, and she soared back into the air. She ended up scoring ten out of ten goals, one of which using the Dionysus Dive like Krum recommended.

Daphne however, screamed quite shrilly and clutched Sue when she saw her sister stand on her broom, then _leap off of it_. Draco also screamed, and clutched Sue, as Daphne had given him a dirty look when he had tried to sit next to her.  
Sue winced at all the screaming.

“ _Never_ do that again!” Pucey ordered when they reached the ground.  
“It’s a Dionysus Dive. It’s a perfectly legal move in Quidditch. I’ve been practicing a Chelmondiston Charge all summer too.” Astoria pointed out.  
Pucey passed a hand over their eyes. “Sweet, sweet Merlin… at least even the Gryffindors will be caught off-guard by you _leaping_ at them!”

“Does that mean I’m on the team?” Astoria asked excitedly.  
“Let everyone else fly first.” Pucey said tiredly.  
Hilton got 7/10 goals.  
Christiansen got 5/10.  
Jung got 10/10, but there was no leaping.

Pucey sighed. “Christiansen…”  
“I know, I know.”  
“Well, you can be on reserve.” Pucey pointed out, before turning back to their new Chasers. “Sweet Merlin… we might finally be able to beat the Gryffindors. But here’s the thing, Greengrass. Please don’t die. Please. Christiansen is a sweet kid, but we need our best out there every game. Also there’s a reason why I called your sister Scary Greengrass.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about Daphne killing you.” Astoria said sweetly. “You need to worry about Mutti. Daphne is all bark and no bite. Besides, it’s my own fault if I get hurt, yeah?”  
“Yes, but for the first time, I’m considering having a player sign a waiver.” Pucey sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose.

“Better have a lawyer look over it.” Astoria grinned. “Can I stay and watch the rest of the tryouts?”  
“Depends, on a scale of one to ten, how angry is your sister?”  
Astoria squinted at the stands. Draco was chattering away to Sue, but Daphne looked positively murderous.

Astoria tilted her head. “Hmm… about a six.”  
“When should I run?”  
“When she reaches 9. That’s basically when she seems very calm. ”  
“Right. Want to be a Bludger target?”  
“Ooh, sure.”

“Christiansen, Jung, Hilton?”  
“Sure.”  
“Of course.”  
“Okay.”

“Magnificent. Oi, Malfoy! Get your arse down here!”  
“Are we flying reserve Seekers?” Draco yelled back.  
“No, Beaters!” Pucey yelled back.  
“Astoria isn’t sitting down…” Daphne trailed off meaningfully, and was about to rise, when Sue tugged on her arm.

“Hush. She’d be in the line of beaters anyway.”  
“She’s fragile.” Daphne huffed, before noticing something past Sue’s shoulder. “Oh, no no no. What is _she_ doing here?”  
“Who?” Sue asked, twisting around to look.

“Laura.” Daphne growled, before racing down the stairs.  
“Who’s Laura?” Sue asked as she followed.  
“My cousin.” Daphne said shortly as they marched down to the Quidditch pitch entrance.

“What are you doing here?” Daphne demanded of the dark-haired Beauxbatons student.  
Laura cocked her head. “I heard brooms, and I’ve been _so_ bored all day… is that your little sister?”  
Daphne crossed her arms. “Leave her alone, Laura.”

“Wow, you two look a lot alike.” Sue observed.  
Both Daphne and Laura scowled, heightening their similiarities.  “No, we don’t.”  
“What do you want?” Daphne demanded.  
“I wanted to watch the Quidditch game.” Laura batted her eyes. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“You’re probably going to curse ‘Storia or something… no, _you_ put it into her head to do that foolish broom-leaping-thing!”  
“You’re really going to have to be more specific about what Ascaria did.”  
“As _tor_ ia.” Daphne hissed through gritted teeth.

“I think it was a… ‘Dionysus Dive’, or something like that?” Sue mused.  
Laura’s eyes widened. “Ascotia did that? At her age? My god, how old is she, eleven?”  
“As _tor_ ia, and she’s twelve.” Daphne growled.  
“That’s what I said.” Laura replied flippantly. “Pity about her soulmate, though. Didn’t Auntie Addie catch him at the Quidditch Cup doing something unsavory?”

“That was his father.” Daphne snapped. Usually, she would be all for tearing down Draco Malfoy, but not when he was being called _Astoria’s_ soulmate, as though it was her fault.  
“Well, you know what they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Laura replied. “And who is this?”  
“Sue is my soulmate.”

Sue frowned softly. Daphne’s tone was more of a challenge to the death than an introduction. “Sue Li, pleasure to meet you.”  
Laura kissed her hand. “Enchanted. Of course, Daphne has told you all about me.”

“No, she hasn’t…” Sue trailed off, looking at Daphne, hoping to convey messages of understanding in her eyes.  
“Laura eats the souls of puppies for breakfast. She exclusively drinks the tears of her enemies gained from conquest in battle, and dresses herself in the finest silk made from human flesh.” Daphne summarized.

Sue’s attention quickly snapped back to Daphne. Things were about to get very, very bad if Daphne sounded calm.  
“Really, cousin, that’s exceedingly dramatic.” Laura pursed her lips.  
“Evil.” Daphne hissed.

“Laura, hello!” Astoria suddenly inserted herself in between her sister and her cousin.  
“Astoria.” Laura beamed at her cousin. “I heard you did a Dionysus Dive. That’s very impressive. I looked for you and Auntie Addie at the World Cup, where were you?”  
“In between the Malfoys and the Austrian Ambassador.” Astoria grinned. “And thank you. We got so caught up in supporting Gretel’s husband that we didn’t really focus on anything else.”

“I hear your soulmate is here, may I meet him?” Laura grinned. “I met Daphne’s, after all.”  
“He’s flying right now.” Astoria laughed awkwardly. “But you can meet him afterwards. But you can sit in the stands and scare everyone by pretending to be Daphne.”

“Oh, I’d love that.” Laura smiled. She followed Astoria onto the Quidditch Pitch, casting a smirk at Daphne.  
Sue cupped Daphne’s face in her hands, kissing her on the forehead. “That wasn’t so bad.”  
“Astoria always steps in when Laura and I have been in close proximity long enough.” Daphne sighed. “Laura loves messing with my head.”

“I can see that.” Sue gently rubbed Daphne’s cheek with her thumb.  
“It’s not just that she’s evil and I need to protect my sister. We… we’ve always been treated as though we’re the same person. Even our names, Laura and Daphne… we’re both named after a laurel tree, can’t you see? Our mothers were twin sisters, and we were born at the exact same time, in the exact same hospital, in rooms side-by-side, so they thought we’d be just like them.”

“The chances of that are… staggering.” Sue admitted.  
“Mutti induced labor as soon as Aunt Aurelie’s water broke.” Daphne shrugged. “I was about two weeks early.”  
“Ah…” Sue nodded slowly. “She seems to like Astoria though, despite all... that.”

“Everyone likes Astoria.” Daphne said dismissively, though Sue swore she heard an unmistakable hint of pride. “And she’s the best at defusing my nemesis and I.”  
“Are your mother and your aunt different? Like as different as you and Laura?”  
“Mm-hmm. Aunt Aurelie isn’t evil like her daughter, but she’s much shyer than Mutti. She’s also rather sweet, and loves her daughter more than anything.”

“So might the differences between you and Laura be as pronounced as that?” Sue probed gently.  
Daphne tutted.  
On the Quidditch Pitch, Pucey was very worried. Scary Greengrass was not glaring at them, or Malfoy, or anyone. Scary Greengrass was dressed in a Beauxbatons uniform that admittedly fit her burgeoning curves quite nicely, but was likely a ploy.

Pucey kept an eye on Scary Greengrass, before landing and getting a drink of water.  
“Excuse me, do you know Adrian Pucey?” Scary Greengrass asked sweetly.  
Pucey froze. Scary Greengrass was never sweet. Oh, this was bad. This was very bad. Scary Greengrass was apparently not pleased with Quidditch Greengrass being on the team.

“They’re over there.” Damned Jung! Pucey turned slowly to see Scary Greengrass coming towards them, and Jung –the American Judas!—pointing at them.  
Pucey did the only logical thing they could—they ran for their lives.  
Laura pouted, before changing her shoes into something more durable and giving chase.

Astoria caught sight of her captain being chased about by her cousin, and ran after them to help try and clear this mistake up. Draco did the same, mildly concerned (alright, rather concerned) about having been replaced _again_ in her affections.  
Daphne, however, saw Draco chasing her sister, and pulled Sue along, firing off curses that even Pucey saw at the front.

This, naturally panicked Pucey quite a bit. They began screaming quite loudly.  
Harry raised an eyebrow as the Slytherins raced past.  
Hermione waved back at Sue.

“Should we follow them?” Ron asked.  
“Why not?” Harry asked.

The Gryffindors took off running after the group. (Pucey, for their part, was becoming more and more inventive in finding obstacles to hurdle while maintaining their speed.)  
“Dere’s Draco.” Theodore pointed out, tugging Blaise away from a Beauxbatons girl with rather striking make-up.

“Blow your nose.” Blaise said without looking away from the girl.  
Theodore complied. “I _said_ , there’s Draco. Practice must have ended.”  
“Oh, let’s follow him, then. Coming, precious?”  
“Seems as though you’ll have to run.” The Beauxbatons girl replied, smirking softly.

Blaise kissed her hand. “I shall bid you adieu then, my love.”  
Blaise and Theodore took off after the disappearing procession, passing a troop of Hufflepuffs tuning instruments.  
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” One of the Hufflepuffs asked, picking up her saxophone.  
The others smirked.

Seconds later, Pucey, Laura, Astoria, Draco, Daphne, Sue, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Blaise and Theodore were pursued by a band of Hufflepuffs playing the ‘Benny Hill’ song.  
“What do you call a group of Hufflepuffs?” Blaise asked.  
“A snuffle, I would imagine.” Theodore replied.  
“A snuffle of Hufflepuffs?” Blaise replied incredulously.

“It sounds hilarious!” Theodore pointed out.  
The group (including the snuffle) ran past the Durmstrang students, leaving a very confused Krum in their wake.  
“The English… are odd…” One student said slowly.  
“What is that sound?” Another asked. “The music?”

“I think that was the Snufflesnuffs playing their instruments.” Viktor finally said. “We should get up to the castle.”  
Pucey, a true Slytherin, had the idea to run for the age line, seeing as Scary Greengrass was three years younger than them. Weaving a serpentine pattern, they burst into the Great Hall, and nearly pushed Cedric Diggory out of the way before projecting a Protego around themselves and the Goblet.

“What in the name of Valhalla are you doing?” Moody demanded, rousing himself from the position he’d kept all night, watching the cup.  
“Scary Greengrass is right behind me.” Pucey panted. “Whew.”

Laura marched in, not a hair out of place, then walked slowly around the age line. “What are you doing over there?”  
Astoria came in next. “Laura, let Pucey alone. They’re not doing anything to you.”  
Draco bounded up next to her, and Astoria sighed. “Not now, Malfoy. Family drama.”  
“It won’t be drama when _she_ —” Pucey pointed at Laura with their wand. “—Calms down and returns to being normal.”

Laura tutted. “Is she always like this?”  
“They/them pronouns.” Astoria said as Pucey narrowed their eyes, trying to calculate what she was doing.  
Daphne and Sue then burst in, and Pucey jumped. “There are two of them, why are there two of them?!”

“An entirely logical reaction to Laura.” Daphne pointed out.  
“I’m pretty sure they ran because they mistook me for _you_. What did they call you, ‘Scary Greengrass’?” Laura asked, tapping her finger on her chin.  
“Thank you for signing my death warrant.” Pucey commented, stepping gently to the side to allow a Durmstrang student to pass and place their name in the goblet.

“Daphne’s not scary.” Sue pointed out.  
“Bias, and you don’t have to put up with her in the common room. Where Malfoy is.”  
“Are you trying to get Daphne mad at me?” Draco asked.  
Pucey shrugged. “I’m sorry Malfoy, but you’re still alive by now, so you must have some luck or a god's favor. Better you than me, in any case.”

“No? It’s not? Stop trying to throw me under the Knight Bus, Pucey.”  
“I have been chased all the way past an age line, Malfoy. My other option is to let Gryffindor win at Quidditch again, which I don’t want to do.” Pucey began pacing around the safety of the age line.  
“What about Ravenclaw?” Sue asked.  
Pucey sighed. “Chang –and Diggory, for you ‘Puffs—are both great fliers. However, Harry Potter flies like he was born with a broom in his hand. Sure, Chang and Diggory have more experience, and they’re consistently updating their brooms, unlike _some_ Seekers…” Here Pucey shot Draco a dirty look, before continuing. “But on the field, unless there is some extenuating circumstance, Potter outflies everyone.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” Harry grinned as he walked in with Ron, Hermione, Blaise, Theo, and the Hufflepuff band.  
Pucey shrugged. “It’s the truth, Potter. Wood was smart to snap you up when he did.”  
“So why did you run?” Laura asked, after glancing at Harry and his band of friends (and the band of Hufflepuffs, who were now playing suspenseful music).

Pucey glared at the Hufflepuff band, before turning back to Laura. “Greengrass, you have two distinguishing characteristics—1) angry and 2) protective. Because I let your sister join the team after she performed something highly dangerous, thereby encouraging more dangerous behavior, I assumed you’d murder me.”  
Daphne set her jaw. “Well, now that you mention it…”

Pucey re-enhanced the shielding charm.  
Laura sighed. “ _Thank you_ , Daphne, for ruining yet another aspect of my life. Really.”  
Pucey began to look for an exit. They weren’t stupid enough to assume this would be the end of the matter, but they could get back to the dormitories and tire her out if they got a head start.

It’s important to know that there is an old saying about Hogwarts;  
The truth in the hands of a Hufflepuff is a secret well-kept.  
The truth in the hands of a Gryffindor is a grand story.  
The truth in the hands of a Ravenclaw is just one part of it, like a facet on a jewel.  
The truth in the hands of a Slytherin is a tool.

Pucey had a most excellently distracting truth ready for a getaway.  
Pucey let out a distracting whistle, before giving a charming (and disarming smile). “Greengrass? I know you want to get rid of me. I know you are just protecting your sister, but before I die, I know something about Malfoy that you should know.”  
Draco immediately looked wary, and Theodore began counting which secrets would be used against his friend.

“Pucey, I don’t have time for your centaur shit.” Daphne huffed.  
Pucey shrugged. “I’m telling the truth—I must be prepared to enter the afterlife, eh? But the point is, I saw Malfoy poking around an engagement ring shop.”  
Theodore had a sharp intake of breath, and Blaise looked alarmed. “You knew about this?”  
“I was trying to help him put the idea on the backburner!”

“Theodore, that’s a weird thing to do!”  
“It wasn’t for him, it was for me and Pansy, and then he started getting ideas and I managed to stop that!” Theodore hissed.  
“ _Still_ weird! We’re fourteen! Some of us haven’t even hit puberty yet!”

“It’s not about that! It’s about a) forming a political alliance and b) making sure that no one can run off and fall in love with someone else!”  
“ _Weird_. Very weird. We are no longer feudal kingdoms!”  
Theodore sighed. “The connection to the right family could mean the difference between life and death if or when another war begins. Don’t tell me you don’t have something similar in Italy.”

Blaise gave a long and tortured sigh that lasted for a full minute. “The continent doesn’t do the whole ‘child-bride’ thing that you’re talking about.”  
“It’s not a—” Blaise placed his hands on Theodore’s shoulders and had him turn around to look at the Greengrass sisters and Laura.  
“Continent versus England.” Blaise hissed, before clapping Theodore on the back. “Remember that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are here, and we _don’t_ need you being weird! We also don’t need Draco being weird, so keep a leash on him.”

“Hey!” Draco huffed. “I didn’t even get anything!”  
“Good, you’re becoming smarter. You can be the Potter to my Granger, because let’s face it, out of the three of us I am the smartest and the prettiest.”  
“You’re the prettiest, but you can’t be the smartest.” Draco disagreed.

Blaise raised an eyebrow before pulling Draco and Theodore over to a corner. “In a toss-up between me, let’s-get-married-at-fourteen-so-that-no-one-else-can-have-you, and my-idea-of-a-courtship-is-stalking-a-girl-until-every-single-one-of-her-family-members-despise-me, I’m the smart one.”

“Okay, when you put it like that, it’s bad.” Theodore agreed. “But most of the time, _I_ am the smart one.”  
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Theodore, you’re the weird one, and that’s saying something. You can be Weasley.”  
“Ooooooh.” Blaise said.

Theodore glared at him, but was cut off by the head teachers entering the room. Laura had somehow cornered Pucey, despite their escape, Daphne appeared to be trying to ward her sister against boys, the Hufflepuff band had apparently learned ‘Hail to the Chief’ (egged on by the Americans no doubt), and were playing it. Even a look from Elliot didn’t silence them immediately.

“So let’s get started.” Elliot said after silencing them when everyone else filed into the room. "The Beauxbatons champion is..." A spurt of flame leapt into her hand and deposited a bit of paper. "Fleur De La Coeur. A round of applause."   
A raucous round of applause burst out, particularly from the Beauxbatons students.   
"Where have I heard that name before...?" Ron muttered to himself. 

"The Durmstrang champion is--" Elliot was suddenly cut off by all of the candles blowing out, leaving nothing but the Goblet to illuminate the room.   
"I do hope it's me. I would ever so like fame, glory, and money." A new voice remarked conversationally.   
Elliot's mouth was a thin line. "You're not welcome here, Grindelwald."   
"...I hope you realize the panic everyone's in now because of you." 

Elliot walked straight over to Grindelwald, sheathed her wand, and punched him in the nose.   
" _Ow_ , that hurt, you peasant!" Grindelwald gingerly rubbed his face as Elliot restored the lights and pushed him up against the wall. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"   
All the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students began panicking. The elder ones moved the younger ones as far away from Grindelwald as possible before setting up a perimeter around him and Elliot. 

"We're in the middle of something, what did you want?" Elliot demanded.   
"My usual demands. Let me train the scrawny martyr child, exercise the child soldiers, cause mischief, et cetera et cetera." Grindelwald replied. "I'm a bit rusty, but I'm still good at that last one."   
"Causing mischief?" Elliot snorted. "You're a nuisance alright."   
"Well, I meant the 'et cetera' part, but that was just hurtful." 

"Dog." A Beauxbatons student spat.   
"Filth." A Durmstrang student growled.   
"You won't take us like you took our grandparents!" 

Laura marched forward, wand drawn. "You murdered my great-grandfather, Noah Reller, and his family!"   
"We've... been over this...?" Grindelwald began. "You tried to kill me, I told you you could never do so on your own, you said you had your sister, I pointed out that she wasn't the first woman I'd have given to a man to ensure said man's complacency in the face of my atrocities, we went to Albus, it was a whole thing." 

"What?" Laura asked, caught off-guard. "That never happened."   
"Yes it did!" Grindelwald huffed. "I even remember what I was doing before that, I was giving your sister and the grandchild of Cygnus Black and Abraxas Malfoy-- those bloodlines mixing is terrifying, more so when you think of adding one of Noah Reller's sons but I digress-- relationship advice."   
"I'm an only child." Laura pointed out. 

Grindelwald's eye twitched. "I am not crazy! Well... I am, but that's not the point! I'm crazy in different ways! Like a fox! Like I'm a foxy old man!"   
"You're really not." Elliot observed. "Now, how did you get in here, especially under Mr. Moody's watch?"   
"I changed my magical signature to imitate Karkaroff's." Grindelwald said nonchalantly.   
"How?!" Elliot demanded. "And does that mean-- where is Karkaroff?!"   
Karkaroff chose that moment to walk in. "I'm so sorry I'm late, I took a nap and..." He trailed off watching Elliot and Grindelwald. 

Grindelwald smiled and waved. "Igor, good to see you."   
Karkaroff paled. "We are not on a first name basis, wretch!"   
"Well, I stole your form and magical signature... and anyway, I am under the impression that whenever I see a man's genitals in relation to myself, we are on a first name basis. The fact that I was under Polyjuice was inconsequential."   
"How easily could that be replicated?"   
Grindelwald snorted. "Whoever it was would have to have the Elder Wand." 

"Albus Dumbledore has the Elder Wand." Moody hissed.   
Grindelwald rolled his eyes. "I am the only person I know of who lost the Elder Wand and got it back. I'll spare you the details... or I mean, you could send the children out of the room. I'll only say for now that it involves chocolate custard, a motorcar, the  _Impedimenta_ jinx, an elephant, a motorcar engine, and a huge --and I am not exaggerating-- moustache. Now some of you may believe that the moustache was overkill. I assure you, it was _not_. It was, in fact, much more necessary than the elephant had been, even though the elephant was key to the entire plan." 

"Please don't tell me he's talking about--" Elliot groaned.   
"I am, of course, referring to the sexual intercourse that I enjoy with my soulmate, the one and only Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, which is of course, _quite_ kinky."    
"He was." Moody agreed.   
Elliot bound Grindelwald with an  _Impedimenta_ while he wasn't looking, then levitated him out of the room, and out past the wards, where she finally released him. 

"Go. Be free." She made a little shooing motion with her hand.   
"I am not a dog." Grindelwald sniffed. "And I am especially not one that you need to keep secret from your parents and thus must live in the woods."   
"Shoo." Elliot hissed, before leaving. She soon returned to the dais. "Sorry about that... anyway, the Durmstrang champion is... Viktor Krum!" 

The Durmstrang students burst into wild applause.   
"And finally, the Hogwarts champion is... Cedric Diggory!" There was a scattering of applause, mostly from the Hufflepuffs. Harry clapped quite hard though, thankful he wasn't singled out. Cho burst out crying. 

"And now let us proceed to..." A fourth name dropped out of the goblet. Elliot picked it up, and read it, before marching over to Barty Crouch Sr. on the sidelines. "It's not supposed to do that."   
"No, it's not." Crouch agreed stiffly. "Perhaps my son was involved."   
"Don't be ridiculous, he showed his true colours before we ever unveiled the Goblet." Elliot snapped. 

"Let me see it." Crouch commanded. Elliot begrudgingly handed over the final slip of paper.   
"They wrote in the boy's name with a school that hadn't entered." Crouch scoffed. "Simple to do. The TriWizard Tournament has, in the past, been open to other schools. For the spirit of unity, you understand."   
"Fix it." Elliot huffed.   
"I can't. Once a name has been entered, the contestant must compete." Crouch said stiffly. 

Elliot ground her jaw. "Can't, or won't?"   
Crouch eyed her slyly. "I refuse to answer that."   
"Well, to light a fire under your feet, I am going to give you some coals." Elliot huffed, before procuring a piece of parchment and a quill from a student. 

"What are you doing?" Crouch asked in alarm.   
"Something unbelievably petty to keep a fourteen year old from potential death." Elliot responded, before scrawling something on the paper and dropping it into the Goblet. A second later, the parchment returned. 

"Representing the Ministry of Magic, Bartemius Tristane Crouch Senior!"   
There was another light scattering of applause, though many whispers.   
"You foolish woman!" Crouch hissed.   
"Oh, undoubtedly. But now there's the issue of you letting one of  _my_ students --who almost certainly didn't sign himself up for this-- be put into a deathly situation. I'm just lending the Ministry some motivation to clear up the issue." 

"He  _can't_ be taken out of the tournament!"   
"If Hogwarts has another champion, I demand that Beauxbatons has one as well!" Madame Olympe huffed.   
"Durmstrang will not be left behind!" Karkaroff hissed. 

Elliot chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before shrugging. "Alright. Harry Potter, second Champion of Hogwarts, please step up for the rest of the proceedings."   
Harry sighed, before joining Cedric. "I'm sorry, Ced."   
"I was honestly expecting you earlier." Cedric smiled.   
"But you're the Champion." 

"Well, we both are, now." Cedric shrugged. "A team is better than nothing, right?"   
"We're a team?"   
"Well, aren't we? Seems like the rules have changed this time." Cedric smiled. "Besides, no one I'd rather have on my team than you."   
"Same, honestly." Harry grinned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I was all happy about the fact that Moody/Elliot could sail. 
> 
> But then I realized that Elliot would never allow such a scandal to disgrace her career-- namely, the scandal of having a romantic relationship with a direct subordinate. 
> 
> This, however, solved a problem for the 5th year. Oh yes, there will be Umbridge here.  
> It also means that now there can be everyone's favorite type of sexual tension between Moody and Elliot before his tenure at Hogwarts comes to an end. UNRESOLVED sexual tension.


	32. In Which Ron has the best plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pucey and Accrington are Vitrolic Best Buds, don't let them fool you.   
> Even if in the vitriol part they (Pucey for sure) hit below the belt.

Draco immediately dragged Harry away after the two new champions (Alejandro Martinez of Beauxbatons and Khristina Ivanov of Durmstrang) were chosen, and Fleur De La Coeur and Khristina Ivanov attempted to start a strike regarding the imbalance of the female champions versus the male ones. Astoria was standing on a table by the time Draco shut the door.

“Where are you taking me?” Harry asked.   
Draco gave him a grin that looked as though it was trying to be mysterious yet enticing (though in Harry’s mind, a reason _why_ a Fourth Year was making that face at him was strange) but simply came across as a normal person having had too much sugar and at the same time needed to locate a bathroom post-haste.

Harry wisely kept this observation to himself.   
The two made their way down to the dungeon, and they waited for the other Slytherins to trickle in.   
“Am I about to be sacrificed to your Norse gods?” Harry asked.   
Draco rolled his eyes. “No. We don’t practice human sacrifice, Potter.”   
“Are you now going to attempt to forcibly marry me?”

“No.” Draco then frowned. “Why would you say that?”   
“Because I don’t know your mental process.”   
“Honestly, Harry. If I was going to forcibly marry anyone, it would be Asto—”   
Daphne entered at that point, causing Draco to immediately stop talking. “Go on, Malfoy. _Who_ would you forcibly marry?”

Draco looked at Harry for help. Harry shrugged. “This is what you get for saying you’d forcibly marry an undisclosed someone. Have you tried being _normal_ about dating her?”   
“Normal is for peasants.” Draco pointed out.   
“Well, this is going like most of our conversations about your potential blushing bride. Can I leave now? It’s starting to be less funny and more… stalker-y.” Harry pointed out, leaning against the fireplace.

Draco hurriedly pulled him away from there. “Are you crazy? What if you trip and fall into that?”   
“Madame Pomfrey has something for burns—”   
“Madame Pomfrey can’t immediately summon you back from… who used the Floo last?”   
“The 7th year with no friends and weird eyes.” Someone replied.

Draco frowned. “What the bloody hell was Tepes doing with the Floo?”   
“A Durmstrang student was using your Floo?” Harry asked.   
“Don’t be ridiculous, his mother was English. Recent Faery blood.” Draco whispered conspiratorially.   
Harry nodded as though he had a clue what he was talking about. “Faeries aren’t in ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’, but okay…”

For some reason, a large number of Slytherins appeared to find this hilarious.   
“Faeries had a row when Scamander tried to include them. Besides, it’s not all encompassing—try to find a Pukwudgie in there sometime. Scamander even _married_ an American, what’s his excuse?” Pansy Parkinson pointed out.   
“The Fae are responsible for all Wizarding people in the British Isles.” Theodore added. “Draco, why is a Gryffindor in our Common Room?”

“Excellent question Theodore.” Draco grinned.   
“No no no, go back.” Harry ordered. “What, we’re all descended from Faeries? Like fairy stories? And how are you lot, who go on and on about blood purity, okay with being descended from something non-human?”   
“ _Faeries_.” Tracy Davis huffed. “Not someone’s godmother. And the Fae are much more… indicative of magic in one’s bloodline. It’s a sign of respect.”   
“Bloody hypocrites.” Harry huffed.

“Oi! Stop painting us all with the Malfoy brush, we’re the _cunning, ambitious_ house, not the racist house!” Someone else Harry didn’t recognize pointed out.   
“What d’you mean, _Malfoy brush_?” Draco demanded.   
“Why am I here?!” Harry huffed, waving his arms in the air.

“Oh. Right. We’ll deal with this ‘Malfoy brush’ later, Blishwick.” Draco stuck out his tongue. “Now, none of us are surprised that Harry Potter has acquired the role of TriWizard Champion. If you are, raise your hand.”   
A handful of Slytherins raised their hands.   
“Leave the room, you’re too stupid to be here.” Daphne ordered.

Harry blinked. “That’s a bit harsh…”   
“We have a reputation, Harry.” Daphne replied smoothly. “Just like Gryffindors.”   
Draco clapped his hands over Harry’s ears. “Normally, I would love to insult Gryffindors, but we must remain on track. Be nice to him.” He then removed his hands. “Now, we must help Potter to ensure that Hogwarts wins.”

“What about Cedric?” Harry pointed out.   
Draco rolled his eyes. “Cedric Diggory is a sixth year, and dating a Ravenclaw. He is not some sort of star-crossed prophecy child who just won’t die. _You_ are the sole Fourth Year against four Seventh Years, one of which is an International Quidditch Star, and a Ministry Official with a history in the Magical Law Enforcement. He is clearly not afraid to use Unforgivables, seeing as he made them legal against Death Eaters during the War. And that bit with his son…”

“Is he going to stand trial for that?” Harry asked.   
“After the Tournament.” Tracey Davis agreed. “The Cup chose him, after all.”   
“Professor Stewart got screamed at for her trouble.” Millicent Bulstrode sighed. “I actually quite like her. She’s never done anything like tell us to go to the dormitory when there’s a troll down here.”   
“How did Dumbledore not get fired earlier?” Blishwick asked.

“Shh! Now, back to the matter at hand…” Draco pushed Harry forward gently. “Does anyone have any idea what the first task will be?”   
A Seventh Year scoffed. “The task isn’t the problem. We need to gain reconnaissance on the competitors, learn their weaknesses and the like. I assume you’ll want to tell Diggory, please do and save us the trouble.”

“Thank you for your help, but why are you helping me?” Harry asked.   
“Hogwarts and Beauxbatons are tied with 62 wins each, and that tart will never let me forget it if _her_ school wins.” Daphne hissed to herself.   
Millicent rubbed her back gently.

Theodore and Blaise scuttled to the other side of the room, and Harry looked at them questioningly.   
“ _We’re_ your friends, but Daphne has a point. Most of us are doing this for _Hogwarts_ , not you.” Blaise pointed out.   
“Daphne is scary.” Theodore said by way of explanation. “Scary enough to start doing the evil laugh when one of her enemies has an oncoming downfall.”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.” Draco pointed out.   
“Don’t presume you’re my only enemy, Malfoy.” Daphne hissed. “That’s incredibly narcisstic.”   
“Thank gods, she’s normal again.”  Pansy breathed.   
“Well, again, thank you for your help, but I’d best be going. The Gryffindors will be waiting for me…” Harry opened the door to the Slytherin Common Room only to find most of Gryffindor waiting for him.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Harry immediately said.   
Ron tilted his head. “You mean the Slytherins _didn’t_ kidnap you for nefarious purposes?”   
“…I’m going to say no, they’re actually trying to help.”  
“Oi, Gryffindors! We don’t go poking about your tower, let our dungeon alone!” Millicent hissed.  

“Then give us back Harry, we need to talk to him.” Hermione pointed out.   
“ _We_ are talking to him.” Draco pointed out. “We’re helping him strategize. You lot are going to be loud and annoying and _congratulating_ him, of all things.”   
“He’s our friend, yes.” Ron commented dryly.   
Hermione marched forward. Some of the Purebloods drew a sharp breath as she crossed the barrier. “Look, Malfoy. You have no right to be kidnapping Harry and implying we would just think everything is all good fun! You think we haven’t realized that _he_ was chosen for a reason? That he could very well die?”

“I _love_ how cheerful our conversations are.” Harry rolled his eyes.   
He was ignored. Draco sighed. “Granger, I’m not insulting _your_ intelligence, you’re like a Ravenclaw transplanted from your rightful house. I’m insulting _their_ intelligence.”   
“Not a sharp move.” Theodore pointed out as the Gryffindors frowned as one.   
“Malfoy, stop trying to steal my soulmate.” Ginny huffed.

The Slytherins made way for _her_. They were not going to cross a quasi-Heir of Slytherin that fulfilled all of their requirements… besides actually being a Slytherin, of course.   
“I’m _not_.” Draco said huffily. “I’m trying to help him not die. That’s what friends do.”   
“We already used the joke about the river.” Theodore said behind his book. “But you’re welcome to try the child-bride route if you can survive Daphne and Weasley doesn’t mind you stealing his lines.”

Everyone gave him an odd look, with the exception of Daphne who was using a standard glare.   
Theodore looked up. “I would like to say that I would prefer not to be Cletus Jones. _Blaise_ can be Cletus Jones.”   
Hermione sighed. “Come on, Harry.”   
Draco tugged Harry back. “No no no no no. We need surveillance on the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang groups. If we find anything, we can share with Diggory. Who will volunteer to spy?”

There was silence, then Ron slowly raised his hand.   
“Why you?” Blaise asked, peering out from behind Theodore’s chair.   
“Because I’m reasonably certain that Fleur De La Coeur is the same one who’s my –our—brother Bill’s soulmate. I could get close to her and relay information back through the carbon copy of Greengrass.” Ron pointed out.

“But she knows you’re Harry’s friend.” Pansy pointed out.   
“Unless we had a large and quite public falling out.” Harry grinned.   
“But why _you_?” Fred asked.   
“If anyone gets close to the gorgeous French woman, it should be me.” George agreed.

“Because Gin’s Harry’s soulmate, and you two are idiots.” Ron pointed out. “ _I_ will do it. It’s not like I’m the idiot cousin we keep in the attic with the ghoul.”   
“I’m sorry, you do _what_?” Harry asked.   
“Figure of speech.” Ron shrugged.   
Hermione looked chuffed. “Ron, that was a pretty good plan. I’m impressed.”   
“This doesn’t mean I’m good at homework.” Ron said hurriedly. “I still need your help.”

“But what about Durmstrang?” A Slytherin asked.   
“I have an idea. I will need a wig, a waiver signed by Draco, several apples, and a dress worn by harlots from… Amsterdam, I should think…?” Theodore said from an armchair he had stolen from an irate 7th Year who had dashed away to the water closet.

Blaise frowned at him. “What is having Draco crossdress going to do?”   
Theodore blinked at him. “What makes you think we’re goin to have _Draco_ crossdress? Draco needs a waiver because he will be turned into a ferret again.”   
“What!” Draco hissed.   
“Then who will crossdress?” Harry asked.

Theodore shut his book. “I was hoping Daphne would do it.”   
“ _WHAT?!_ ” Daphne screamed.   
“Oh he’s dead.” Ron murmured.   
“I’m thinking calla lilies for the funeral?” Harry noted.

Theodore dodged the pillows Daphne was throwing at him, and scrambled behind Blaise (who scrambled behind him, in a neverending circle).   
“She’s _fourteen_!” A Seventh Year hissed.   
“Yes, I _know_! Greengrass likes the idea as much as a rattlesnake does being poked, and that’s the _point_. She’s meant to be uncomfortable. She’s meant to not be sexually enticing while trying to come across as though she’s trying to be. She’s a _distraction_ for Draco to go in as a spy.”

“I’m not an Animagus.” Draco snorted.   
“ _No_ … but the more people exposed to involuntary animate to animate transfiguration, the lower of stastics on the matter become.” Theodore pointed out. “Everybody’s already scared into the other houses by all that business with Voldemort and Slytherin and the ‘Malfoy brush’ as Blishwick put it. We’ll only be left with the loonies and the racists if this can’t be fixed. Then everyone hates Slytherin, and we can’t get jobs or the time of day from our soulmates or decent housing or whatever because everyone thinks we’re ‘evil’.”  

“Morality is defined by the actions and intentions of the person in question, and the emotional connotations given by the person judging!” A Sixth Year called from another stolen armchair. “A tiger kills, but it kills to eat. A tiger does not kill for evil intent.”   
“But we are human beings, not animals! What defines us if not our morality?” Another challenged.   
“And even then, all morality is not the same!” Yet another chimed in.   
“Philosophy lessons with the Slytherins, wonderful.” Hermione commented dryly. “Is anyone here actually an Animagus?”   
Pansy Parkinson scoffed. “No, Granger. This is Hogwarts, not Uagadou.”   
Harry raised his hand. “What?”

Draco gave a sigh of long-suffering. “Potter, there are more than four magical schools in the world. Hogwarts is English, Beauxbatons covers the rest of Western Europe, Durmstrang Eastern Europe, Ilvermorny covers the _entirety_ of North America—”   
“We have –had—smaller schools everywere.” A former Ilvermorny student pointed out. “Generally state funded schools. Quality varies, so Ilvermorny is the first and foremost school in America in terms of international recognition. Like Beauxbatons and Durmstrang—you can’t expect everyone to send _all_ their children to one school in the region, right?”

“…right. Anyway, Uagadou covers Africa. It’s located in Uganda. Now, it’s relevant to the discussion as the students there become Animagi –animaguses?— during their time as students. They have even competed professionally.” Hermione pointed out. “Hogwarts does not employ the same method of teaching children to become Animagi, so it’s unlikely we have one among us.”   
Several Americans raised their hands, but as they had waist-length hair of various hues and most of their eyes shone like precious gems, they were ignored.

“Absolutely _not_!” Draco snarled. “Why not just get Sirius Black to do it— _he’s_ an Animagus, and _he_ bloody loves Potter!”   
“What?” Most of the room said at once.   
Draco covered his mouth. “Oh no no no, I’m as bad as the gamekeeper…”   
“What do you mean, Sirius Black’s an Animagus?” Harry asked, the first to recover.

“When Grindelwald kidnapped me, Black and L… Black and Lupin came across me. Black was in the form of a Grim before he changed back.” Draco said carefully.   
“And he just let Grindelwald take you?” Daphne asked skeptically.   
“I lied and told Black it was a prank on Mother.” Draco shrugged. “He found it hilarious.”

“Why the _fuck_ are there Gryffindors in the Common Room?” A new voice interrupted from the staircase.   
A tall, round Seventh Year girl with an extremely tight ponytail gripped her wand and descended the stairs.   
“I don’t know.” Draco scoffed.   
The girl narrowed her eyes. “No no no, Malfoy. You don’t get to play outrage. You _brought_ them here, didn’t you? Why do you _insist_ on making friends with the Gryffindors? We’re _Slytherins_ , not Hufflepuffs! Look at this, there’s a _Mudblood_ in the Common Room, tracking mud on the carpet! A Blood Traitor and a Halfblood next to her!”

The Golden Trio, the subject of her vitriol, narrowed their eyes as one. As did the rest of Gryffindor.   
“Don’t.” Draco said. “Professor Dagworth-Granger—”   
“Oh, _shut it_. Professor Dagworth-Granger takes his orders from that American bint in her tower. The one _fucking_ a man who would put away most of our families if they let him. Who turned _you_ into a bloody ferret.”

Most of the Slytherins, including the Americans, looked taken aback by her language.   
Then there was the sound of a book snapping shut. “Accrington, what died up your arse?” Pucey demanded, rising from their own chair and shooting the surrounding Slytherins a look to keep their claim on it. “I _like_ not being spat at by the rest of the school. So do the rest of us. Yes, there are Gryffindors in the Common Room—they’re trying to make sure _all of us_ don’t lose to Beauxbatons because Harry bloody Potter died or whatever happened. And Professor Stewart cares a good deal more for us than Dumbledore ever did.”

Accrington laughed. “What, you seriously believe we should all dance around and be friends? The Gryffindors have the entire school bowing at their feet already, with bloody Potter at the head of it. Why should _we_ roll over and play nice with them? Why _now_?”   
“Because there are worse things in the world than the Gryffindors, Accrington.” Pucey said softly. “And haven’t you heard the whispers? Don’t you know that they don’t stay in the shadows forever? Don’t you remember what happened to your father?”

“Bitch!” Accrington snarled. “How _dare_ you mention him!”   
“How dare _you_ try to incite a riot in the Common Room!” Pucey snarled back. “You think you’re untouchable because you’re a Prefect? How _thick_ are you?! Thick enough to end up like him, or spineless enough to be like your dear mummy, bowing and scraping and begging for you and her and your brother not to end up in Azkaban? Tell me, how many cocks _did_ she have to suck so you wouldn’t end up seeing your dear daddy everyday?”

The Gryffindors collectively let out a low whistle.   
Accrington shot off several bolts of magic. “Mention my mother again, and I’ll send you to Hel to deal with! Especially when Narcissa Malfoy groveled just as much, yet you protect your little Quidditch pet!”   
“Oi!” Draco growled. “Don’t mention my mother like that!”   
“Oh, _shut it_ , Malfoy! You’re the one who brought the Gryffindors here in the first place!” Accrington snarled. “What, tired of your _real_ house? Itching for a chance to betray _somebody_ , as no one will let you near them? What do you have to gain from buying into the house unity bullshit that’s been spouted at us for years _now_?”

“The Gryffindors are my _friends_.” Draco hissed as Pucey and Accrington began to duel back and forth.   
“The _friendship_ with the Gryffindors goes against everything we were ever taught!” Accrington hissed. Several Slytherins moved to back her up.   
Pucey rolled their eyes. “Alright, let’s walk through the consequences of perpetuating your bullshit. The younger years go off thinking that they need to keep up a wall between them and the rest of Hogwarts. The Gryffindors acknowledge this, and as they hate changing themselves, they won’t do anything to tear down the wall. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw follow Gryffindor’s lead. Slytherin remains isolated. Now, think about when, like now, _Hogwarts_ is under attack. We’re part of Hogwarts, it’s time we started bloody acting like it.”

A petrificus totalus finally hit Accrington, and Pucey, sighed, stretching and cracking their back. “Gods, I _hate_ NEWTs season…”   
“Weren’t all exams canceled?” A Canadian asked.   
Pucey rolled their eyes. “When Dumbledore canceled things in the past, _everyone_ had their exams canceled. I’ve had anxiety attacks over my lack of OWLs because Potter stopped a basilisk or some such nonsense. I’ve heard horror stories about students who don’t even have NEWTs from the incidents. Stewart is much smarter about this.”

“What do the NEWTs have to do with this?” Hermione asked.   
“Generally, Slytherins are more… subtle. I sent Accrington upstairs to have a nap, Malfoy’s Kumbaya experiment interrupted it.”   
“You said some terrible things to her.” Draco noted.   
“Eh.” Pucey waved their hand, moving to return to their (still empty) chair. “I never said we were best friends.” They then thought better of it and levitated Accrington up to the dormitory.

“Now that that’s out of the way, we need to discuss auditions.” Theodore said, sinking deeper into his chair. “I expect to see everyone from our friend group there, or I shall hunt you down and drag you to the auditions area.”   
“Where are we holding them, and when?” Hermione asked.   
“I was thinking by the lake, Saturday?”

Hermione made a face. “It’ll _rain_. Room of Requirement?”   
“Oh, yes, let’s.”   
“Well, now that that’s done, Gryffindors _out_.” Pansy ordered. “Accrington was a nervous wreck due to exams, but that doesn’t mean we’re all going to sit around the fireplace holding hands and singing Kumbaya just because she was wrong.”

In Wiltshire, Lucius and Narcissa were sitting in the lounge. Lucius was reading the Prophet, and Narcissa was pretending to read a washy romance novel (“Soulmates with a Dragon King”) where the heroine had just been rescued from a drudging Muggle existence and had met a man with smouldering eyes. The so-called ‘Dragon King’ was far too intrusive for Narcissa’s taste, but she liked to read the novels for the stupidity of the characters anyway. If Lucius had asked, Narcissa would have said that she was critiquing the heroine’s decision to go running off with the man’s best horse to the surrounding lands for some stupid reason. What she was _really_ doing was occasionally, and quite subtly, bumping him with her foot.

“Right, what is it?” Lucius asked, putting down his newspaper.   
Narcissa feigned innocence. “Whatever do you mean, dear? I’m simply reading my novel… is everything alright? I’m not bothering you, am I?”   
“Once is clumsiness. Twice is an accident. Thrice or more means you want my attention.” Lucius pointed out.   
Narcissa finally shut that dreadful book. “Did you know Crouch was at Hogwarts?”   
“No.” Lucius admitted. “But I’m guessing Bellatrix and Rodolphus did.”

“Not him. The one in the Tournament now.”   
Lucius shuddered involuntarily. “I think I’d prefer the ‘I would like to kiss as though we’re teenagers’ conversation I thought you were leading up to.”   
“Don’t end a sentence on a preposition.” Narcissa said automatically. “And I was, but then I remembered Crouch.”

“Cissy, he can’t hurt Draco…”   
“Pardon my French, but that is bullshit. If the man could keep his son –his own son!—under an Unforgivable for over a decade, why couldn’t he hurt our baby? The Aurors like and trust him—he was once their boss, he wiped out the Death Eater scourge in their minds, why not close an eye or two?”

“What about this Stewart woman you’re so enamoured with?” Lucius pointed out. “She’d never let him be hurt.”   
Narcissa tapped her index finger against her lip in thought. “You recall the Greengrass girl?”   
Lucius burst out laughing. “Her mother is just like you in terms of protectiveness of her children. And have you _seen_ Daphne Greengrass? The person who messes with her sister has a bright future as a corpse.”   
“Shh-shh. That’s _revenge_ , not prevention. Bellatrix _and_ Andromeda were protective of me, yet you remember what Claude Accrington tried to do in my third year.”

“Yes, I _do_ remember. _I_ got punched in the face, and Mother was quite upset about the entire ordeal.” Lucius snorted. “And it’s an unfair comparison, if you’re going that way. The Greengrasses are light, rich, and influential. Crouch is an adult, Accrington was a child.”   
“That didn’t stop either of us.”   
“Either… Narcissa, were you the one who set his closet on fire?” Lucius demanded.

Narcissa suddenly found her book quite interesting.   
“ _Narcissa_.” Lucius groaned.   
“Andromeda helped me with the fuel.” She remarked primly.   
“Narcissa, while I agree that the mangy halfblood should never have tried to lay a hand on you, isn’t it a bit much?”

“No, Bellatrix wanted to gut him.” Narcissa pointed out. “Mother wanted to decapitate him and feed his body to the house-elves.”   
Lucius stared at her. “ _Narcissa_.”   
“The point is that there is always a way to get to things that people love.” Narcissa pointed out. “Getting to Draco means getting to us, which we both know Crouch wants desperately.”   
“You mean, getting to me.”

“If you say so, dearest.” Narcissa shrugged. “My reputation as Druella Black’s favorite daughter _has_ opened some doors that I’d prefer remain closed, though.”   
“Given your sisters, that’s not such a hard thing to achieve.” Lucius muttered.   
“What was that?” Narcissa asked.   
“Nothing, dearest. Let’s act like teenagers, shall we?”

Several days later, Harry, Cedric, and the rest of the Champions went to the Weighing of the Wands. Draco had given Harry extensive advice in case a reporter appeared.

“Nervous, Harry?” Cedric smiled.   
“Well, hopefully people won’t spit at me.” Harry noted.   
Cedric grimaced. “I am sorry about that. Hufflepuff loyalty, you know…”   
“Oh, I know.” Harry rolled his eyes. “The Gryffindors are split down the middle. Is it odd that only the Slytherins seem to think I didn’t do it?”

“Well, I’m sure the other two from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons don’t mind.” Cedric pointed out. “Besides, they’ll come around. Even though the Slytherin association might not help…”   
“Ah, but the Slytherins think I’m too dumb to have come up with this plan on my own.” Harry grinned.

Cedric laughed. “Wow. You’re not doing well at all, are you?”   
“At least we’re a team.” They filed into the room with the other contestants. A blonde woman was flitting about, asking everyone some questions. Her eyes lit up when she saw Harry.

“Mr. Potter, may I have an exclusive interview?” Without waiting for an answer she dragged him out of the room into a nearby cupboard.   
“Now, my name is Rita Skeeter.”   
Harry struggled with a grimace. “I’ve read some of your articles, yes.”   
Rita’s eyes lit up. “You have? Wonderful, always nice to meet a fan.”   
Harry remembered the lesson Draco had drilled into him. “Indeed, I would imagine so. Your column is quite influential, after all.”

Rita giggled. “Now, Mr. Potter. How do you feel about being the youngest champion in over a century?”   
“Honestly? I’m terrified. Officially? I’m glad that I have the opportunity to bring Hogwarts glory and finally win against Beauxbatons, seeing as both schools are tied at 62 wins.”   
“And what about Ms. Stewart? Do you think she’s less capable than Dumbledore, as an American…?”

“I think Professor Stewart is a very strong individual.” Harry said firmly. “And I feel much safer with her protecting the school than Dumbledore.”   
“One last question, Harry. Do you think the reason you’re here has to do with You-Know-Who? Barty Crouch Jr. _was_ discovered earlier in the schoolyear masquerading as a teacher, after all. Do you think the monster who killed your parents may finally be back for you?”

Silence fell for a moment, while Rita’s quill scratched on her parchment on its own. Draco _had_ warned him that she’d use a Quick Quotes Quill. Blast.   
“I think there’s many reasons why I could be here.” Harry finally said. “But it won’t do any good to claim Voldemort –yes, I said it—is back _yet_. Who knows, he _could_ be planning an insurgence… and if that happens Madame Skeeter, I’d be happy to give you an exclusive interview on my thoughts on the matter.”

Rita beamed at him. “You’re funny. Off you pop, Harry.”   
Harry scampered back to the wand-weighing ceremony.   
“What was that about?” Cedric whispered.   
“Making friends with the press.” Harry whispered back.

Ollivander was looking at Fleur’s wand. “Interesting core, what is it?”   
“Hair from my grandmother, a Veela.” Fleur replied promptly.   
Ollivander looked up sharply. “Don’t Veelas die if a hair is taken from them?”   
“ _Ouais_. Now you know why it is so special.” Fleur shrugged.

“Did she kill her grandmother?” Harry asked.   
“It’s not very clear.” Cedric shrugged. “I’m more concerned with any blowback she receives for being a half-breed, it must be awful.”   
“No, Cedric. Competitive.” Harry sighed.

“But we can be nice…”   
“They’ll suspect something.” Harry pointed out. “Best to let them lie.”   
He did, however, notice Khristina take the end of Alejandro’s fingers against hers, and the small smile he gave her. “Oh my.”   
“What?” Cedric asked.   
“Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.” Harry nodded at Khristina and Alejandro.   
“How sweet.”

“ _No_ Ced.”   
“Alejandro Martinez?” Ollivander asked after pronouncing Fleur’s wand fit for the tournament.   
“S-si?” The boy stuttered.   
“Come here.” Ollivander ordered.

Alejandro complied, though Harry recognized his body language. Poor chap was scared. Harry realized with a jolt that he may not be the only unwilling participant.   
“Hmm… poplar, swishy, 10 inches… what’s this core?”   
Alejandro mumbled something.   
“Speak up, lad.” Ollivander cast a translation charm for good measure.   
“Augurey feather. I found it with my father when I was nine years old. It was a prized possession of mine…” Alejandro bit one of his cuticles.

Ollivander’s face softened. “Normally I wouldn’t recommend anything involving augureys, but the emotional connection you have with it is important. Can you cast a Patronus with it?”   
“Yes sir. A polecat.” Alejandro nearly whispered.

“A fine Patronus indeed. Well, I see no reason to keep you. Harry Potter?”   
Alejandro fled back to Khristina, who murmured something in his ear.   
Ollivander’s quick fingers seized his wand. “Holly, supple, 11 inches, phoenix feather. You’ve been taking good care of your wand, Mr. Potter.”   
“I have sir. As much as I enjoyed your shop, I don’t want a new one anytime soon.”

Ollivander’s face split into a happy grin. “That is the best praise I could hope for. Thank you, Mr. Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you guys wanted to see more of Alejandro and Khristina, but perhaps a bit later. All I will say is this-- I used the augurey intentionally, and speaking of, Delphini Lestrange whatever-her-name-is will be here once I get around to the time of her conception.   
> "You said Snape was going to bring Voldemort back dickless."   
> He is. Next question. 
> 
> Also yes I spell Fleur's last name that way because those are three separate words. Like Marquis de Lafayette is sometimes spelled Marquis de la Fayette. 
> 
> Also also sorry not sorry for a plot derailing idea about my OC. Maybe it will come back.


End file.
